Standing at the Edge of the World
by Myathewolfeh
Summary: When the whole world goes to hell, the surviving nations must unite to restore order and stay alive. As they struggle to stay together and out of the hands of an Organization that wants them dead, they fight not to lose who they are, and discover love and strength in each other as only ever an apocalypse can bring forth. Contains violence, character deaths, lemon, and lots of drama
1. America

**Let the chaos begin...  
**

Warning: Death threats, weapons, anarchy, mention of rape

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating the characters, though.

* * *

**America  
**

_Turning and turning in the widening gyre_

_The falcon cannot hear the falconer_

_Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;_

Alfred suppressed anxious whimpers as he hurried around his apartment, opening drawers, going through cabinets, looking for anything that may prove useful to him later on. Hell, he didn't know what would help now that the world had gone to shit. He packed whatever he could into his backpack, having abandoned his suitcase for it shortly after coming to the realization that he wouldn't get far with such bulky luggage.

As he peered out of his window down to the hectic streets bellow, swelled with distant angry mobs and riddled with the constant sounds of gunshots, Alfred wondered if the rest of the world was in just as worse a state. He could try to find out, but it was highly unlikely he'd get much information. After all, the television networks had gone down days before as well as most communication lines.

He sat at the edge of his bed, breathing heavily, satisfied with what he'd managed to fit into the backpack. As he stared almost blindly up at his cracked ceiling, he thought back to when this all began.

It was a year ago that the world economy had gone down the shitter. Every country was in deep debt. Even China had to admit that he was broke, having given most of his money to Alfred who in turn put it toward solving the economical problems in his country but to no avail. And with Yao having switched from closed market to capitalism a few years prior, the situation only worsened. Every other country after that fell to harsh inflation and limited resources and production which caused widespread poverty, unemployment, and famine. In response, the citizens of each nation rose up to challenge their governments, in a worldwide coup, the very ones who were trying to keep the country together. But some government buildings were completely overrun—or so he heard—and the officials were forced to flee. All those who stayed or didn't escape in time encountered the mobs and were violently murdered. Now, with no centralized superior power to keep order, the mobs were sweeping through the countries, attacking any supporters of the government and burning as they went. Alfred remembered the day he saw Lady Liberty being hacked at and eventually brought down on the news just a few months before. Now, the people were attacking national monuments and symbols, claiming that they were just a hoax to get them to support the supposedly 'corrupt' government. The last that Alfred heard, similar things had happened to other countries, from France's Eiffel Tower, to England's Buckingham Palace and Houses of Parliament, and even Russia's Peter and Paul Cathedral and the Kremlin weren't safe from the mobs' wrath.

He ran a hand through his mussed hair and heaved a sigh. "Damn, I wish I could talk to him." He hadn't heard from Arthur for weeks and was very worried. He was older than him, after all. Probably needed a wheelchair to lug his elderly ass around…

Alfred almost burst out laughing at that before reminding himself of the situation that he was in. God, he wished he could talk to someone—_anyone._ It could be Ivan for all he cared. He just needed to know that he wasn't the only nation still alive.

And his states. His beloved children. No matter how much he searched, Alfred couldn't manage to locate any of them. Not even here, in the heart of Manhattan, could he find New York. Alfred presumed that he'd been smart and fled long before. He wondered why in the world his son hadn't minded to visit him before he left, though Alfred knew the most likely reason for his quick departure was from the insistence of his governor.

Ah, the governor. He had long since been dead. Alfred wasn't sure for how long, but he assumed that, with all the increased activity, he had been taken out a couple days ago. Alfred smiled in spite of himself, chuckling softly under his breath. The governor had never been the sort of man to just give up in the face of danger. The man was as stubborn as an ox. No doubt he would have stayed and continued to work with the angry citizens until his death. But his passing came too soon to have instilled even the smallest amount of order.

And what of his other kids? Had they been taken out by the mobs as well? He didn't try to think about it, but couldn't help worrying. Sure, he could feel it if one of them happened to be killed, but he was still worried. His mind wandered back to the last time he'd heard from one of them—Virginia. She wasn't crying like the other states who had called him; that was not like her. Virginia was strong, the oldest of all the states, and thus had been through many hardships. Still, he could tell her resolve was wearing thin from her voice.

"They're coming," she'd said, her voice close to a whisper, trembling slightly. "I haven't heard from the others since last week. Pennsylvania tried to contact me but…" She took a deep breath and continued, "You've got to get out of here, Dad. You'll get hurt."

"I'll be fine," Alfred reassured, though knowing the statement was close to a lie. "You know that, Red, better than anyone else."

Virginia scoffed at her long-standing nickname, and he knew at the other end of the phone, she was brushing her ruddy locks back out of habit (1). "Whatever. But this isn't your usual riot, Dad, if you haven't already noticed."

"Trust me," Alfred laughed grimly. "I know."

A pause startled him and he found myself yelling, "Red? Red! Are you there?"

"I'm fine, Dad, just some passing people." Virginia responded, her voice barely comprehensible.

"The mobs?" Alfred asked with concern.

"Look, Dad, do what I say." Virginia said sternly. "Don't come looking for me. I can handle myself."

"But—!"

"There's a flight leaving JFK in 2 days at 9:00 p.m. It's bound for Guam. The Uprising hasn't spread there yet, so it's the safest place to be." Virginia whispered, surprising him. "You don't have much time."

"You… you got me a flight?"

"Yeah, I have connections. But I'm afraid they've gone down lately, so this is your only chance unless you have another plan to get out of the country."

A warmth rose in my chest. As much as he wanted to say no and instead come get her, he knew that this opportunity had been gained through sacrifice on Virginia's part. It was her gift to him, and she'd be angry as hell if he turned it down. "Thanks, Red."

He could practically hear her smiling. "No prob."

A loud banging noise followed by shouts and gunshots rattled off on the other end of the phone, and his heart skipped a beat. "Virginia! What was that? The mob?"

"I-I've gotta go, I'm sorry." The stutter in Virginia's voice scared him half to death. Virginia was never one to falter with her words. Then, in a wistful voice, she added, "Love you, Dad."

"I love you t—" Before he could finish, the noise disappeared to be replaced with a dial tone.

He would forever remember that moment, for it might have been the last time they would speak again.

A loud gunshot outside made him jump. It sounded very close to his apartment. Too close for comfort.

He'd spent a whole two days already trying to gather his things and deciding an escape route to Queens. He'd have to cross the Queensboro Bridge somehow… if only he could think of a way to avoid the mobs that were likely to see him as he did so.

Alfred gave an exasperated grunt as he heard another gunshot, this one sounding like it was directly below him. He cautiously crawled over to the window and peeked out.

His heart immediately sank.

It was a man dressed in riot police uniform, though Alfred knew that the whole squad had been eliminated near the beginning of the rebellions. No, this was one of the murderers… a man who had managed to kill a trained officer and took his uniform to catch government officials unawares. The uniform still had several blood stains that Alfred was sure belonged to the officer he'd stolen it from. In his hand was a 12-guage shotgun, which he fired every so often, possibly to keep others away. But why?

Alfred sighed. It looked like he'd be taking the back door out.

Not wanting to waste another second in his now dangerous apartment, Alfred snatched up his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder and grabbing his handgun off the nightstand. He cracked the door of his apartment open, being sure to thoroughly assess the long hallway for any signs of danger and concluded it was safe enough to venture out. He quietly stepped out, locking his door from the outside before sliding the key underneath it. If anything, he wanted to keep those looking for him as busy as possible, and he definitely would not be coming back.

It was almost an awakening for him. From now until this hell ended, he would be on the run.

Alfred moved down the hall with the tentativeness of a deer. Every time he passed a door or turned a corner, he paused and examined his surroundings. Every creak, every bump he made, he stopped and held his breath, waiting for someone to jump out of one of the rooms or around a corner and shoot him dead.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Alfred reached the back staircase. He started down them too eagerly, though, forgetting that the old steps screeched every time any kind of weight was put on them. He halted, wincing, fingers digging into the wooden rail nervously.

A gunshot went off then, making him jump and nearly drop his backpack. Alfred hunched over, preparing himself to receive a bullet in the head, but being met with nothing. Surprised, he stood straight, waiting for another shot, then proceeded down as many stairs as he could before the echoing of the blast stopped. After a few more agonizing shots, Alfred was at the bottom, just about to head out the back door before soft mutters reached his ears.

"… is he? Jack said he'd be here."

Alfred froze, unable to move, unable to breathe.

"Dunno."

"Well, that can't be right, then. Jack's been keeping surveillance over this building for days now, and he swore no one went in or out."

The voices were approaching the stair cellar, until the door finally swung open and two burly, hard-looking men entered, dressed in bullet-proof vests, and holding small handguns.

But Alfred had already slipped under the stairs, hoping the shadows were enough to conceal the glint of his glasses.

"Dammit!" The taller one kicked the steps under which Alfred was crouching. The nation had a death grip on his own gun by now. "I can't take much more of that arrogant prick, John. Thinks he's all that in his officer getup, staying up all night to 'keep watch'. Keep watch, my ass! I shoulda gone with my wife and kids when they boarded that ferry in Buffalo."

The man named John regarded him with accusing eyes. "Yeah, but you chose to stay here instead and kill off the rest of the Deceivers."

"Ya don't need ta remind me. But my family deserves vengeance for what those bastards caused. Where's Mary gonna have her baby now, hm?"

John smirked. "In a manger, maybe?"

"Shut your trap, smartass."

_Deceivers? _Alfred tried to process what they were saying. _So is that what they're calling government workers? _

"Cool it, Hank." John said almost soothingly as he looked around the cellar. "When we catch this guy, we'll take all our anger out on him, 'kay?"

"Sounds like fun." Hank circled the room, peering up the steps. He scrutinized the stairs so closely, that Alfred seriously thought he'd left something behind in his descent. "Now, where do ya figure this fucker's hidin'?"

John pointed upward. "Jack said he's on the third floor."

Hank scoffed. "And how does that son of a bitch know?"

"Remember that officer he found just last week?" John grinned slyly and Alfred's stomach did back flips. "He did more than just rape 'im."

Alfred stiffened. _Oh, God… if they find me…_

Hank, meanwhile, raised a curious eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Interrogated the bitch, did he?"

"I'm sure of it." John's eyes narrowed. "Our prey wouldn't dare peer out the window."

"Damn straight. Though he'd make it a lot easier if he'd just give himself up instead of hidin' out here like a mouse. Damn coward, just like the rest of 'em…"

"Let's go," John said. "We're wasting time."

Hank laid his foot on the first step and Alfred closed his eyes, finally coming to a realization. _They're looking for me… but the only person who knew where I was hiding was… Oh, God, Sam…_ He clapped a hand to his mouth, suddenly feeling very sick. He fought to keep bile from rising in his throat. The last thing he needed was the puke right now. _I did that to him. Jack… you fucking bastard._

As John joined Hank at the top of the steps, he asked, "So, do you think we'll be able to keep this one… you know, for _recreational purposes_?"

Alfred's nails dug into his palm. No way. No _fucking _way…

Hank leered. "Heh, you would like that, wouldn't cha? Haven't had a good fuck in a while myself. But ya know what Jack said: the kid belongs to 'im."

A cold shiver shot up Alfred's spine, and the door closed above him. He waited a few moments before he gathered the courage to bolt to the back door. His hand shot for the knob, furiously turning, wanting anything to be out of the building and far away. But, try as he might, the doorknob was simply refusing to turn. He bit his lip and could taste blood._ Damn!_

There was no other alternative. With only two exits in the building, and one being closely guarded by a rapist with a shot gun, he had no choice but to kick the door in. He just hoped it would work the first time. It would spare him a bullet in the head.

Gathering all the strength in him, and willing his limbs to stop trembling, Alfred kicked with all his might at the door. He could feel it budge a little, but it otherwise remained stoic.

Shouting and heavy footsteps approaching from upstairs made Alfred's breath hitch. He abandoned his method of cool, carefully-calculated kicks and instead began to desperately pound at the door.

He gave a startled shout when the two men burst through the upstairs door. "Hey! Hold it right there, kid!"

"No, dammit, c'mon!" Alfred's hands were trembling and his heart was throwing itself against his ribs.

He continued to kick at the door despite the fact that the two men were gaining on him, aiming guns at his back. But that didn't stop him; he knew from their previous conversation that they wouldn't dare shoot him.

Finally, the door flew open, and Alfred stumbled out, barely catching himself on his hands and knees on the ground outside. With reckless abandon, he forwent the careful observation of the city around him and pushed himself to his feet, darting toward the closest cover he could find: an open warehouse.

"Stop!"

"Or we'll shoot!"

Alfred was panting now, heart racing, adrenaline pumping—but no way in _hell_ was he stopping now. He was already so close to the bridge; his apartment was practically a mile from the river.

He turned into the warehouse, running in between rows of boxes to the other end. Behind him, he could hear the two men racing up the rows, searching for him. "You're just _askin' _for a bullet to the head, aren't ya, boy?"

Alfred slowed in his running until he made no sound when his feet hit the concrete floor. He continued on like that, hunched over behind the boxes, until he was able to slip out the back door and race toward the bridge.

_Please don't let them see me, please don't let them see me!_ Alfred's thoughts were consumed with worry as he hiked his way up to the road that led across the bridge. He ran all the way to the opening, darting behind an abandoned car just in case and finally gathering enough courage to stop and rest and look behind him.

No one. Great.

He surveyed the length of the bridge as far as he could see. Again, no one.

Alfred sighed. It would be a long walk, but if he could make it across, the airport wouldn't be far beyond. He just hoped he could make it before any mobs swept through.

"Well," he muttered. "I have everything to lose. Might as well have fun risking it while I can."

* * *

No translations!

References:

The stanza at the beginning is from one of my favorite poems: "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats. It was written to describe the violence and turbulence of WWI. It also sets the mood for the fic.

1-I use 'Red' as a nickname for Virginia because of the queen she was named after. Elizabeth I had a bad temper, was athletic, and very independent-all the attributes I will use to make up Virginia's personality. And yes, I have named all of the states and you will be seeing more of them later on in the fic.

A Word From the Writer: So... sounds angst-y so far? Good! Continue on, this is a multi-chapter post to get things rolling!


	2. England&France

**The death count will begin now. Just a heads-up.  
**

Warning: Anarchy, character deaths, mention of rape and murder

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**England  
**

_Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,_

_The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere_

_The ceremony of innocence is drowned;_

Arthur sat in his living room, blankly staring out of his window. Oh, look at that. The garden was ruined. All those hours of slaving in the sun (however little of it there was in England)… for nothing.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, and he peered up into warm green eyes. "How're ya doin', lad?"

"I'm fine, Lennox, thank you." Arthur gave him the happiest smile he could muster, but it apparently wasn't very happy.

Lennox frowned. "Don't lie. When ya lie, ya make me feel like I'm not doin' my job as a brother." When Arthur didn't respond and turned to peer out of his window again, Lennox settled down next to him. "Tell me what's wrong."

"You know perfectly well what's wrong." Arthur responded with distant venom. "The Irelands and Wales are dead, and the world's a living Hell."

Lennox gave him that damn pitiful look that he'd always hated. He missed how bold and reckless his older brother used to be, how he used to lose his temper at everything, how when Arthur looked him in the eyes, he could see fire, how the man used to hate his guts.

"Don't look at me like that!" Arthur snapped, not knowing exactly why. Lennox was the only one he had left, as far as he knew. "I'm not beaten. Not yet. Not until they hunt me down and fight me to death."

Lennox lifted a bushy red eyebrow. "You're not implyin' you're stayin' here, are ya?"

Arthur stood, feeling his head pound with frustration. All this time, since he'd found his other brothers dead and Scotland alive, he'd been trying to get Lennox to leave. Even though Lennox was technically the big brother, Arthur's country was the only one that wasn't completely in ruins. And the Queen was still alive, as far as he knew, still here, like him, and he was determined to stay. "If you're going to just sit here and console me, then don't. I've ordered you to leave this place numerous times, but still, you stand here, looking at me like there's still hope left! I won't have it! I won't have the last of my family killed!"

Lennox didn't look in the least bit scared, which managed to tick Arthur off even more. He just kept staring at him with those sympathetic eyes. "You've already given up, then?"

Arthur clenched his fists, seething. "You blasted idiot! Don't you see? We're too far gone to bounce back, not from this. That's why you need to leave."

"And you're stayin', I presume?"

"Yes!" Arthur was shouting now, though he didn't quite know why. "Of course! The only thing for me to do now is stay here. Don't you see, Len? This is my end. Parliament is destroyed, the Palace is overrun, London is in shambles, anyone who was worth anything dead. This is how it was meant to be. This is punishment for me, for that time long ago when I shouldn't have chosen to take the cowardly way out. This time, I will go down with my ship, not abandon it. But you, Lennox," His voice was shaking now as he held the other man by the collar of his shirt. "You need to leave."

Lennox held his gaze, unfazed. "This is just as much my country as it is yours, laddie."

Arthur couldn't believe it. The shock, the anger, the regret… it was starting to get to him. "How dare you!" Arthur released him, shoving him away. Lennox stumbled, but caught himself, looking idly at him. "How dare you act so kindly toward me now? You didn't give a rat's arse about what happened to me a few decades ago. You—!"

There was the sound of wind whipping outside, and Arthur turned to peer out his window at the gray sky, where a helicopter approached and landed just outside. He turned back to Lennox, who had a look of fright on his face the likes of which Arthur had never seen from him before. Was it fear or regret? He couldn't tell.

"You need to leave," Arthur said sternly. "Now."

To his surprise, Lennox walked toward him, head down, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him close. Arthur felt his throat grow scratchy.

Scotland had never hugged him before.

"I will do as ya say," Lennox murmured close to his ear. "But only because I know yer too stubborn to convince otherwise." There was a pause, and Arthur was too shocked for words. Since when had he become more stubborn than Lennox? "I love ya, little brother. Be strong fer me, fer our people."

"I will," Arthur choked out, disturbed at the weakness in his voice.

Without another word or glance, Lennox exited the house, heading for the helicopter. Arthur took a deep breath, willing away tears, and turned around to watch him leave, feeling his heart sink at the sight.

Now he was truly alone.

Suddenly, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was a slight movement, but he spotted it nonetheless. He and his trained pirate eye. It never failed him.

The figure darted out of the trees surrounding his home and dashed toward the open space where the helicopter had landed. It took Arthur a moment to realize that there were four of them, and they had guns.

"Lennox!" Arthur shouted, fear wrenching his gut and helping him rush out of his door and toward the helicopter. "Lennox! Behind you!"

A shot went off, then two, then three. Arthur stopped counting as he neared his brother, who was now hurrying back in his direction, reaching out for Arthur.

He grabbed his arm. "We have ta get outta here."

Arthur nodded, his pride and bravery dissolving with the sight of the rebels. "I'm right behind you. Now, run!"

Lennox pulled him along, both racing toward the helicopter. Inside, the pilot was motioning anxiously toward them. As they neared, he shouted something—inaudible over the sound of the whirring blades.

"What's that?" Arthur shouted.

"… hurry!"

He dare not look behind him as he nodded and was pushed into the cabin by Lennox. Arthur turned around, reaching to tug his brother in, when a loud shot rang out and blood splattered on his sleeve.

_"Lennox!" _Arthur shrieked, catching the man in his arms as he fell forward, blood pouring from his neck wound. It must have hit his jugular—the blood was everywhere, hot and sickening, soaking Arthur's sleeve and pant leg. "Lennox! _Oh,_ _God_!"

"We have to go _now_!" The pilot swiveled around in his seat, his eyes wandering down to Lennox's limp form. "Is he dead?"

"Lord, I-I don't know…"

"We don't have any more time to waste." The pilot gestured to the rebels who were just a few yards away and closing, guns reloaded and ready.

Arthur's voice rose in panic. "We… we can't just leave him here!"

The pilot shook his head, pity glazing his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir, but there's no room for a body where we're going."

"Body…?" Arthur's mouth went dry as he muttered the word and ran a hand through Lennox's red hair. "I'm sorry, Lennox. Please, forgive me. I couldn't protect you either…" He blinked back tears. "_Dammit_!"

"Lifting off!" the pilot warned, and Arthur bit his lip, willing his frozen fingers to wrench themselves free of Lennox's blood-stained clothing. He let out a whimper as he allowed his brother to drop listlessly to the ground.

"Go, for God's sake. Get out of here!" Arthur couldn't bear seeing Lennox in such a state, and he forced himself to look down at his lap as they took off. So, he was abandoning ship again. How fucking typical. But he had to live—Lennox and his other brothers would have wanted that at least.

A sickening feeling rose in his throat, and he felt like he would vomit, but willed away the feeling. He couldn't be weak. Not now.

He'd promised Lennox too much.

"Where are we off to, lad?" Arthur finally found his voice, though it was still trembling.

"The U.S." was the response, and Arthur felt his heart lurch. "It's the only place that responded to my call and still has fuel."

He leaned his head against the window and heaved a sigh. "God, please, just let America be okay… I don't think I could take it, black pirate heart or no."

* * *

**France  
**

_The best lack all conviction, while the worst_

_Are full of passionate intensity._

_Surely some revelation is at hand;_

"You have to do this!"

"I will not!"

"For the sake of our country—"

"For that very reason, I will not abandon you."

The older man bowed his head in exasperation. "Francis, don't do this to me, please."

Francis folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. "You are just as important as me. Why should I go while you stay?"

"Because I am one man. You are an _entire nation_. If you're killed, France is wiped off the globe. If I perish, you will still exist, that is, if you leave now."

Francis looked defiantly at him. "You are just as important as me." he repeated, holding his gaze steadily. "Without your guidance, this country may never be at peace again. So, tell me, what if I am to leave today, like you want me to and you die? How will I ever be able to return safely if you are no longer alive to control the nation?"

His boss pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed gruffly. "That isn't the point, Francis. The point is that you'll still be alive. And it's better having you not here and alive than having you here and dead."

Francis growled, "I will not abandon my people in a time of crisis! That is the last thing they need in such times: less guidance."

His boss gave him a cold stare. "Remember what happened to Monaco and Luxembourg?"

Francis's breath caught in his throat and he lowered his eyes to the floor. "No, I try not to."

"Please, do. They stayed behind to help their countries, and look where that's gotten them. Ten feet under!"

"Please, don't say anymore." Francis felt guilt well in his gut. "Please,"

"Remember, France—you couldn't save them, and why? Because they stayed put. They were like large, red bull's eyes!"

"Stop it."

"I won't stop it, France." his boss replied venomously. "Not unless you agree to my terms."

"I told you already, I will not."

"Have it your way, then." His boss pushed back his mussed gray hair and turned his back to him, peering out the window in the long conference room. "Now, where did they find him, Luxembourg, I mean? Oh, yes, tied to a stake, burned alive."

"No," Francis covered his ears. "I don't want to hear it."

"Oh, you'll hear it, all right." his boss snapped, turning around and slamming his hands on the end of the table. "And Monaco, hm? How did you feel when _she _was found, violently raped, her body hacked to pieces?"

"No!"

"_Yes_, France, and it's all because of their ignorance. If they were smart, they would have left long before. But now all they are is another corpse in the street…"

_"ENOUGH!"_

His boss looked at him quizzically as Francis stood, crumpled-looking, panting, pale, and grief stricken.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Francis?" His boss's voice had returned to its normal tone. "Why do you sit back and suffer at the expense of your people?"

"Because I _am _my people!"

"You'd prefer them all condemned, then, to a life without a country?"

Francis flashed him a menacing look. "I'd do anything for them."

"Then the biggest sacrifice you have to make is to let go. Leave,"

Francis was about to respond, when a corpsman ran through the doors and saluted. Both men saluted him in return and he shakily went on, "Sirs, the jet is ready to depart."

His boss gave Francis a stern look. "Do this for France."

Francis found himself nodding, though not really wanting to. "Yes, for France."

His boss smiled, and he smiled too, the main reason being because he hadn't seen anyone smile in a long time.

"Go, then. And be safe."

Francis nodded, feeling guilt claw at his insides as he was led out by the corpsman and onto the dusty stretch of land that had long been demolished by angry citizens. His heart sank at the sight. As he was boarding the private jet, his boss came running out to see him away, shouting, "Vive la France!"

Francis cracked a smile and waved, "Of course, my friend, of course!"

With that, the doors were sealed shut, the pilot guiding them down the makeshift runway and into the air.

"Where are we off to?" he asked after a while of pondering.

"America," the pilot responded, not bothering to elaborate.

Francis sighed as he peered out his window. He could not bear to look down on the destruction wreaked upon his beautiful cities and towns for more than a few agonizing minutes, though. He leaned back in his seat and muttered, "What has this world come to?"

* * *

No translations!

A Word From the Writer: Nations are dropping like flies. And that thing about England 'abandoning ship' will be mentioned later on in the fic, so pay attention! And are you seeing the pattern here? America is the destination. Ignore how coincidental them all going there is!

The stanzas are from "The Second Coming" The whole poem will be mentioned within these first few chapters. Now hopefully I won't have to mention it at the end of each chapter, yay!


	3. Germany&Italy

**Expect the word "Ow" to come to mind.  
**

Warning: Anarchy, battle situation, death by glass and grenade

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Germany  
**

_Surely the Second Coming is at hand._

_The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out_

_When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi_

_Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert_

Gunfire erupted as Gilbert stood in the Reichstag's north functions hall, staring out at the makeshift front set up just a hundred yards from the large glass windows. Tanks and men armed with guns were the only things that separated him and the rest of the officials from the terror of the people.

The people. It shamed him to even think that the only way to counter their rebellion was to kill them. When the initial revolt broke out, many big wigs were killed, and the rest—including him and his brother—retreated to the only intact government building in the area. The military (or rather what was left of it) had been called in to protect the remaining leaders, and it had warned the public that it would not hesitate to shoot them down if they tried to lead an attack. Now, here he was, feeling as alone as ever and frozen where he stood.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"Relax, brother, it's just me." The familiar voice of Ludwig comforted Gilbert.

He turned to him, eyeing him seriously—which he honestly hadn't done but a handful of times before. "Ludwig, how are they holding?"

Ludwig met his gaze steadily. "They have somehow annexed tanks and weapons of their own and are taking out the remaining troops in a blitzkrieg."

Gilbert lowered his eyes. "I thought I'd never live to see the day when our own strategy was used against us by our own people."

"Me neither," Ludwig sighed as he put a hand on his shoulder once more, coaxing their eyes to meet again. "We can't stay here, East."

Gilbert swallowed dryly. "No sane man can."

"That's not what I mean." Ludwig said. "The Bundestag demand our departure."

Gilbert pulled away from him, whipping his head around to peer out the window as the sound of planes roared overhead. "Are those our planes?"

"Oh Lord help us," Ludwig said slowly.

They gave startled shouts as the floor beneath their feet rocked with the sounds and explosions of bombs dropping outside the building. Some of the ceiling began to crumble.

Just then, the President of the Bundestag came running in, pausing to catch his breath before he yelled over the rumbling, "They have planes… and they're dropping bombs on the building!"

Before the brothers could respond, the ground shifted as a bomb exploded with a loud boom on the north side of the building.

The President lunged forward and snatched up both of their wrists, tugging them toward the door. "You must leave. _Now_!"

They certainly didn't protest as they were led out through the lobby and out into the hall.

"Where are we going?" Gilbert shouted over the almost constant booms.

The President didn't stop in his running. He didn't even bother to turn around. "To one of the government's planes!"

They entered the dome room next, running quickly through. Gilbert peered up through the glass as he ran, watching the annexed planes soar overhead.

"Incoming!" he shouted and pushed his brother to the floor, throwing himself on top of him, and covering his own head with his hands.

There was a deafening screech as the massive cupola shattered into a million pieces, the shards of glass whipping like bullets through the air and lodging themselves in any solid object they hit. Gilbert bit his lip as his back and hands were imbedded with the sharp projectiles.

When their ears stopped ringing, Gilbert picked himself slowly off of his brother, helping Ludwig to his feet. He looked around for the President, and his heart sank when his eyes rested upon the crumpled man, his throat and sides impaled with glass. Gilbert assumed he must not have heard his warning.

"No…" Ludwig breathed almost helplessly.

"It looks like we were lucky." Gilbert observed, pointing out the undetonated shell sitting in the middle of the room. He grabbed his brother's wrist. "We need to go."

"But the President—"

"Stays here. He won't feel anything anymore." Gilbert replied. "Come on."

Ludwig nodded, and Gilbert could see he was struggling to rebuild his composure. "Let's go."

With that, they exited the now destroyed dome room, Gilbert wincing with the pain in his back. The shards were deeply buried; too deep in to come out on their own. He'd have to pick them out later. Now he settled with getting them out of his hands… but they hurt like a bitch.

They ran until they heard it—the sound of the plane engine on the east side. The brothers flew past the soldiers and captains and exited the building via the committee room.

Outside, the remainder of the Bundestag and the Bundesrat were gathered close together beside the plane, surrounded by armed soldiers. As they approached them, a member broke away from the group (much to the displeasure of the soldiers) and hobbled toward them.

"Where's the President?"

Ludwig seemed as if he couldn't answer, so Gilbert did it for him. "He's gone."

The member's face twisted into shock, then grief, then determination. "Get on the plane."

"Why should we leave when you must stay behind?" Ludwig asked.

"It is too late for us." the member replied hopelessly. "But not for you. If you live on, then a whole new generation of the Bundestag and the Bundesrat will take our places."

"It isn't right," Ludwig snapped. "I won't allow it."

"Would you rather end up like the President and the Chancellor? They won't be of much help now, and you won't be either if you're dead."

"He's right, West." Gilbert put a hand on Ludwig's shoulder, and realized he was trembling. Ludwig was not one to break under stressful situations. But then again, this wasn't your average riot.

He could almost hear the wheels turning in Ludwig's head. It was strange—normally Ludwig was so experienced with dealing with a crisis, but now he seemed almost… at a loss. He did the only thing he knew how to do, that was nearly instinctual and dated back to Prussia's strict military history: obeying your superiors and trusting in the experience of someone else.

"Yes, sir,"

"Then you will depart to the United States. It is the only place we could contact."

The member gave him a small smile and led them toward the plane. When Gilbert shuffled past the soldiers, he could hear them gasp and mutter worriedly. Oh God, how bad _were _his injuries?

As they climbed the stairs into the cabin, the members waved them off. They sat side-by-side, Gilbert's arm wrapped securely around his little brother's shoulders.

The pilot steered the plane around the south side of the building so that they were facing the front. It had fallen back nearly halfway, the angry citizens overwhelming the trained missionaries with their numbers and arms. Above them, planes were zooming around, and Gilbert bit his lip, tightening his hold on Ludwig, hoping to God that none of them would decide to take aim.

The plane picked up speed as it ran across the hard-packed earth toward the line of fire. They actually passed through it, and Gilbert turned away when he saw a soldier blown to bits by a grenade. People were firing at the plane, and they were actually gathering a mob as they sped down the makeshift runway, but they were too fast for them to shoot at. Gilbert could hear the growing hum of other planes approaching behind as they neared their takeoff point. _It looks as if they've figured us out._

They were pushed back into the seats by their sharp ascent, and they were quickly rolling around in the air, dodging the annexed planes as they were closely followed. One was coming up on their side, and Gilbert's heart leapt into his throat as it got closer and closer to the wing. It was going to crash into them. In fact, Gilbert noticed, that seemed the exact intent of all the other planes in the alliance, as they all picked up speed and encircled them in an effort to make them lose control and crash into the group.

_Why aren't they firing? _Gilbert wondered. He'd rather be blown up in the air than dive to the earth and slowly burn to death in the wreckage. Then he realized, _They must want to capture us… _He wasn't sure to be relieved or frightened of that.

There was a sudden swoosh then the sound of crunching metal. At first, Gilbert thought they had been hit and braced himself for a slow, fiery death, but it never came. Puzzled, he looked outside.

There, flying like bullets through the air from every direction, were the government jets. They shot off heat-seeking missiles that tailed the opposing planes until they were nothing but fiery bits of metal and smoke. Gradually, the planes began to fly dangerously close to the planes surrounding Gilbert and Ludwig until, finally, the enemy pilots were forced to pull away to avoid collisions and to deal with the sudden onslaught.

Gilbert didn't stop squeezing Ludwig (nor did he notice it) until a good ten minutes later, when they could no longer hear the bombs at the Reichstag and Ludwig muttered, "East… you are hurting my arm."

"Oh, sorry," Gilbert withdrew from him, realizing that the strength of his grip was enough to cause bruises. _I'll have to take a look at that later. _He thought.

"Don't you want to rest, East?" Ludwig asked, looking at him strangely. It was only then that Ludwig noticed he was sitting with his back awkwardly turned away from the seat.

"No, I'm fine."

"Let me see your injuries."

"What! Why do you always suspect—"

"Because you're stubborn, that's why." Ludwig snapped and spun him around. Gilbert could feel Ludwig's fingers dig into his shoulders as he assessed the damage. "The cupola… why did you cover me?"

"Do I really need to answer that for you?" Gilbert asked incredulously. "I'm your _brother_, West. These kinds of things are instinctual."

"Shut up," Gilbert cracked a smile as he heard a hint of amusement in Ludwig's voice. Only Gilbert could get Ludwig to come mildly close to laughing. _Mildly_. "I'll need to pick these out."

"I know," Then in a mocking, childish voice he whimpered, "Please, be gentle with my awesomeness."

"Gilbert?"

"Yes, dear brother of mine?"

"Shut up before I decide to push them in deeper."

"Love you, too, Luddie."

* * *

**Italy  
**

_A shape with lion body and the head of a man,_

_A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun_

_Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it_

It was so _scary_! All the gunshots, all the shouting… it was truly terrifying.

Feliciano huddled in the corner of his living room, hugging himself and crying. He had cried for so long now, that he had no more tears to cry. He hadn't left his corner for three days—which explained his dehydration and weight loss.

But he didn't care. He was too scared to leave, to even look in any other direction but at the wall. His lungs heaved and his chest was sore with crying, dry hiccups still falling from his cracked lips, his face still hot with the effort.

He flinched as his cell phone rang across the room, unusually loud to his sensitive ears. Feliciano whimpered and covered his ears as it continued, almost mocking him. He couldn't answer it. His fear wouldn't allow him to. He was afraid the bad people could track him if he answered, so he remained where he was, in his little corner, curled up and breaking in his cries to hold his breath as closer gunshots rang out.

He didn't know what he'd done wrong! Feliciano had made so many white flags and stuck them around the outside of his house, that he was sure someone must have seen them. Why weren't they working, then? Didn't they know he'd given up?

He cried out as the wind began to pick up outside. Feliciano covered his ears and cried, fearing the worst as the low roar continued.

There was the sound of footsteps and then a pounding at the door.

"Feliciano! Feli, I know you're in there!"

Feliciano didn't answer, only curled more into a ball.

"Please, open the door, Feli!"

"Go away!" Feliciano cried. "You'll hurt me!"

"Stupid bastard, listen to me! Do I sound like someone who would hurt you?"

Feliciano blinked. No… it couldn't be, could it? After all, he'd assumed he was dead when he was reported missing from the entire country. Cautiously—and with much effort—Feliciano crawled over to the door and unlocked it slowly. As soon as it was, the door flew open, and Feliciano threw himself to floor, curling into a fetal position and shouting, "Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me, please!"

"Idiot," came the familiar voice. "Why would I hurt my own brother?"

Feliciano peered up and breathed, "L-Lovino?"

Lovino rolled his eyes and offered Feliciano a hand. "Yes, dammit, now get up."

Feliciano smiled as he took his hand, bringing himself to his feet. Immediately, though, his legs buckled and felt like jelly as they crumpled beneath him. Lovino lunged forward, catching Feliciano as he fell.

"Wow, that's weird." Feliciano blinked in confusion at his immobile legs. "I can't really feel my legs. They're kinda tingly!" he laughed weakly on the last part.

"Oh, no…" Lovino held him as he tried to examine the damage. "That's not good, Feli. What have you been doing?"

Feliciano looked guiltily down at the floor, as if he had just been found with his hand in the cookie jar—which definitely wasn't a good thing to be caught for, he knew from experience with Austria. "I… I've been sitting over there." He motioned to the corner.

Lovino glanced at it before looking sternly back at him and asking, "For how long?"

"… three days…"

"_Three days_?" Lovino nearly shouted, gripping Feliciano hard around the shoulders. "What is wrong with you, idiot? Have you eaten at all?"

"… no…"

"Had any water?"

"No…"

"Bathroom?"

Feliciano began crying again. Lovino shook his head. "Stupid bastard…"

"I'm sorry, Lovi! I'm sorry! Please, help me!"

Lovino sighed and hugged his brother close, cradling his head against his shoulder. "Of course I will help you, idiot."

Feliciano silently cried as they stood there (or rather, Lovino stood and held him) for a few more minutes before a gunshot reminded them of the danger that lurked outside.

Lovino pushed Feliciano off of him so that he could meet his eyes. "Have they seen you?"

Feliciano shook his head, hiccupping pitifully.

"Do they know you're here?"

"I don't know…"

Another gunshot.

"We need to get out of here." Lovino said and pulled Feliciano toward the door.

"Wait, Lovino!" Feliciano dragged his feet, unable to walk. "How?"

Lovino turned around so that Feliciano could clamber onto his back. "The helicopter, idiot. Didn't you hear it?"

Feliciano didn't have time to answer as another gunshot forced them to move. Lovino ran as fast as he could out the door and around the backside of the house where a helicopter hovered overhead. He stopped and waved at it until a ladder was dropped down. He began his ascent, and Feliciano gripped him tightly as Lovino struggled to pull both their weights to the top.

Then, something whizzed past Feliciano's head, and he screamed, nearly strangling Lovino in the process. Lovino choked a bit before glancing over his shoulder. They were only halfway up the ladder. "Dammit! They've spotted us!"

What Feliciano realized were bullets zoomed past them, and he began to cry. Lovino grunted, "Feli, I need you to crawl around to my front."

"What?" Feliciano sniffed.

"Go,"

"But I'm _scared_!"

"Do it, dumbass!"

With a whimper, Feliciano clambered around until he was clinging onto Lovino from the front, head buried in his brother's shoulder.

"Come on, dammit!" Lovino grunted as he continued to move up the ladder. Feliciano could feel his muscles straining as he did so. "Almost there!"

A bullet shot by and sliced through the thin fabric on Lovino's sleeve, making him hiss with pain. Feliciano screamed as he saw blood well from the light scratch.

"Stop squirming, dammit!" Lovino growled.

The bullets continued to fly, gunshots sounding louder than the blades of the helicopter. Finally, Lovino managed to make it to the top of the ladder, muttering for Feliciano to climb into the cabin. As soon as he was in, Feliciano reached for him, grabbing his right hand.

Then, there was another shot and Lovino gave a pained shout of, _"Fuckdammit!"_ Feliciano was forced to brace his weakened feet against the inside of the cabin as Lovino dropped his left arm from the rung of the ladder, half his body weight being held by Feliciano. It was only after a few more heated curses from his brother and the blood welling beneath the fabric on Lovino's shoulder that Feliciano realized he had been shot.

"Lovino!" he cried, tugging with all his strength, slipping ever closer to the edge of the helicopter.

Lovino peered up at him, shouting, "Idiot! Let me go!"

"No!" Feliciano began to cry as he pulled helplessly at Lovino.

"Feliciano," Lovino met his eyes for a moment that felt like a decade. "Please. I didn't save your ass just to have it killed!"

Feliciano shook his head. "I'm not giving up!"

"Bastard…" Lovino growled, allowing himself to be pulled up by Feliciano.

With all the effort in his already weakened body, Feliciano tugged Lovino up the rest of the ladder and into the cabin. Lovino flopped like a fish on the floor until he had fully scrambled his way in and shut the door behind him.

He rounded on Feliciano who was still sprawled on the floor and trying to catch his breath. "You idiot! Why did you do that?"

"I thought you were… I didn't want you to…" Feliciano started crying again.

"Idiot," Lovino sat down beside Feliciano and held him close. "You truly are a stupid bastard."

Feliciano cried into Lovino's chest as he rocked them both. Lovino peered out the window as the pilot steered them out of Venice and toward the Mediterranean Sea. "I just hope that conditions in America will be better than this. Maybe he might still be alive. Maybe the others will be."

Feliciano glanced up at his brother's face as he sniffled and saw a single tear trail its way down Lovino's cheek. "I just hope…" the older muttered.

* * *

No translations!

A Word From the Writer: Romano actually grew some balls. Bet that was a surprise. What will come more of a surprise is finding out where he was during the start of the Uprising. You'd think he would have been with his brother, but...

Onward!


	4. Russia&Japan

**Even at the end of the world, Japan has claustrophobia.  
**

Warning: Anarchy, mention of murder and torture, character deaths, fight scene

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Russia**

_Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds_

_The darkness drops again; but now I know_

Ivan lay in his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. It was dark, the curtains closed and the lights off. He had his gloved hands folded over his abdomen, fingering the material of his old World War II army great coat and cap. He smiled at the irony. All that he put into his country— his life, his being—was for naught.

So, this was how it would all end?

The government buildings in Moscow were burned and looted. Innocent supporters of the regime were killed as well as all officials discovered. The army was reduced to a few hundred soldiers. The infantry was retreating. Religion did not matter anymore. Cathedrals were seized and destroyed. Those of the cloth were murdered. Whole cities were burned to the ground.

And here he was, lying, waiting. He would not commit suicide nor would he kill his people. If his citizens wanted to topple the old order and kill him while they were at it, then so be it. Until then, however, he would wait for his demise with dignity.

At that moment, all the gunfire ceased outside, just a mile from his home. The army knew he was here, waiting, and they insisted upon protecting him, though Ivan had no idea why. There was no stopping the united will of the people—he knew that from experience. And he also knew that this time around, he would not be able to change that.

Not ten minutes later, there was a pounding at his door. Ivan kept his eyes locked on the ceiling and shouted, "Enter!"

"Sir!" A battered-looking soldier stumbled into the room, catching his breath. "S-Sir… there has been a cease-fire."

"So I have heard."

"No, Sir," The soldier was bold to tell Ivan he was wrong, but Ivan allowed it to slip. "It has been enacted on the enemy side. The General fears they are planning to launch an air attack."

"So?"

"Their main objective is to eliminate you."

"Oh," Ivan broke his stare at the ceiling to smile wryly at the young man. "Isn't that unfortunate?"

"Y-yes, Sir." The soldier was obviously disturbed by his behavior. "There's also something else."

"And what would that be, comrade?"

The soldier swallowed and turned, motioning toward the doorway. Ivan watched curiously as two more men entered, carrying between them what looked to be a corpse.

"You brought me a body?"

"No, Sir," the soldier replied as the others lowered the corpse to the floor beside Ivan's bed. Ivan's eyes widened and his heart sped up (actually _beat_ a few good times) as he recognized the identity of the body. "We've brought you the President."

Ivan was silent for a moment, the blood roaring in his ears. "You rescued him?"

"No," The soldier looked shamefully at his feet before continuing, "The enemy returned him to us. They warned us this is what would happen to you."

"They only seek to weaken our resolve." Ivan replied, gaze returning to the ceiling. Quietly, he muttered, "It seems as if he's won the race to Death before me. Lucky bastard."

The soldiers were quiet for a moment, as if they were expecting more of a reaction. Then, one soldier said, "Sir, will you not flee?"

"Flee!" Ivan's sharp, almost hysterical laughing rang throughout the room, making them all flinch. Ivan turned his head to look at them. "Fleeing is for cowards. I must face what I have created."

"If you do not," another said slowly. "you will be killed."

"I have long known what my fate would be." Ivan closed his eyes as he faced the ceiling once more. "You needn't repeat it for me."

"You don't understand, Sir." a soldier replied, and Ivan gave him a how-dare-you-tell-me-what-I-do-and-do-not-understand look. Nevertheless, he continued, "All of the officials are dead. The only authoritative figures left are the remaining Generals and you."

"Unless you unite with the other leaders," another added. "Russia cannot be righted and saved. You must escape so that when peace comes, you will once again be able to restore order."

"Mother Russia," Ivan mumbled. "is no more. The people _are _Russia. Without their support, I am nothing but just another enemy opposed to their ideas." Oh, yes, he'd learned this, had seen his royalty killed for this…

"Then what do you intend to do, Sir?"

"I intend to end how I began: by the hands of my people." Ivan swallowed his regret and continued, "There is no saving this country from the wrath of those who created it. There is no stopping the Uprising. After I am long gone, a new Russia will rise from the ashes and who were once my people will start anew with rules and ideas they approve of."

There was a tense silence, then the soldiers stepped forward. Ivan turned to look at them quizzically. "If that is what you think, Sir," one said. "Then we have no choice but to forcibly expel you from the country."

Another soldier stated, "By order of the remaining Generals of Russia, you are officially banished from the country until further notice."

Ivan sat up, a dangerous look on his face. "You cannot banish me from my own country! I _am _this country!"

"As you said earlier, Sir," a soldier quipped, lunging forward to subdue him. The others immediately followed. "This is no longer your country."

"Let me go!" Ivan growled, managing to throw one soldier off of him, only to have the other two pin his arms by his sides. _Damn! I'm too weak… _His strength had been waning ever since the beginning of the Uprising, and now it was reduced to nothing more than that of a mortal.

"There is nothing left for you here, Sir."

"Stop resisting."

"Dammit, let go!"

Ivan was held down, one arm twisted behind his back as he was shackled. They then sat him up on his bed and placed his cap back on his head.

"There is no time to pack, Sir." one of the soldiers began ruefully. "We have all the supplies you may need. You are taking the last of the government jets to America. There you will stay until you are contacted."

Ivan was silent for a few moments before he looked at them and smirked. "You three are all very cocky bastards. I order you to retain that attitude until the end."

"We will, Sir." they all said at once. They all saluted Ivan, though Ivan could not salute them back.

"I guess I have no choice, then." Ivan said wistfully. "Do what you will with me. Though, I cannot guarantee that I will keep away until your call."

A soldier smiled. "We expect it."

Ivan lowered his head so that he was looking into the ghosted eyes of the President. "He was a brave man. Was he tortured?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very much so, Sir."

"He never gave away any information, though, Sir."

Ivan smiled. "Loyal bastard,"

He rose to his feet and was led by the soldiers out of his home and into the jet that waited in his backyard. Once they were inside, Ivan was chained to a chair in the cabin.

"The Captain will have the key." one soldier assured. "He will release you upon your arrival."

"Of course," Ivan offered them another smile. "I only wish I could have been of more help to you."

"You wouldn't have been allowed anyway."

"Who says I would have obeyed?"

The soldiers chuckled and waved in farewell as they made their exit. "Just… try to stay safe."

"I will," Ivan replied. "Or else all of this effort to send me elsewhere would have been for nothing, yes?"

The soldiers gave him a last smile as they exited the cabin, closing the door securely behind them, all of them knowing what fate awaited them back at the front.

Ivan sighed as the plane took off and he peered out of the window. The battle had started again, as it sounded, and small planes could be seen on the moonlit horizon. But it was too dark and foggy for the planes to follow, and he would be far away before they would arrive at his home.

Ivan leaned back in his chair as, once again, he laughed at the irony of his situation. "It figures that my only escape route would end up being one that led to America…"

* * *

**Japan  
**

_That twenty centuries of stony sleep_

_Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,_

Kiku cried over the body of South Korea, his head in his arms which were folded across the younger man's now cold body. It had only been a couple of days since Soo came to him, having been forced to flee his own country, and the two had been ambushed, Soo taking a bullet to the chest and head in the process. Kiku knew they were coming for him now that they knew where he lived, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was mourn Soo.

There was a knock at the door, and Kiku stopped crying abruptly, as he'd always done when he feared someone would see him showing any kind of emotion, which was quite rare. He instinctively reached for his katana, though he knew that it would do no good against guns and grenades. Even so, he would defend Soo's resting place to the very end. He wouldn't give anyone the chance of violating his brother's body like they did so many others.

The pounding continued, and Kiku braced himself, his katana raised and ready.

"Japan! Japan!" a familiar voice shouted frantically. "Kiku! Please, open the door! It's China!"

Without even the slightest change of expression, Kiku opened the door, and China stepped in, a look of horror on his face.

"What happened, China?"

"This!" Yao turned around to reveal the limp form of Hong Kong hanging from his back. Kiku examined him for a moment before Yao wailed, "He's dead! Shot! Murdered!"

"Oh, no…" Kiku backed away from the scene, his resolve weakening with the sight of Hong Kong's blue lips and pale face. "How did he…?"

"I tried to get over here with him," Yao began hysterically. "to see if you were okay. But the boat we took was intercepted by an enemy ship just offshore. We were forced to bail and swim the rest of the way, but they shot the water and hit Hong Kong. I had to drag his body to the shore and carry him here. I thought he would last until then, but…" Yao lowered his eyes to the floor in an effort to hide his tears.

Kiku was at a loss about what to do. He hadn't seen Yao cry before and wasn't very close to him. Comforting him was a foreign subject to him.

Instead, he took Hong Kong off of Yao's back and carried him to his couch, arranging him so that he looked like he was stretched out with his eyes closed. "Now it looks like he is sleeping."

Yao smiled and sniffled. "Yes… his facial expression even matches."

"Yeah,"

Yao laughed wistfully and he turned toward Kiku's room. Kiku, panicked at the thought of Yao finding Soo, darted in front of him, blocking the way. Yao gave him a puzzled look.

"What is it, little brother?"

"Nothing. My room is messy."

"Nonsense," Yao clucked. "You're the last person I'd expect to have their room so disorderly."

Kiku shrugged. "I… haven't been able to tend to it for a while."

Yao narrowed his eyes. "What is it you are trying to hide from me, Japan?"

"Nothing!"

"Oh, really?" Yao tried to push past him, but Kiku's samurai reflexes prevented him from doing so. "Japan!"

Kiku sighed. This struggle was going to last forever if he allowed it. "All right," He stepped aside. "But you'll regret resisting me."

Yao gave him a worried look and opened the door cautiously, as if expecting a monster to jump out. Then, he gave a sharp cry, surging forward to Kiku's bed where Soo lay.

"I'm sorry, Yao." Kiku placed a hand on his brother's shoulder as he cried into Soo's chest. Yeah, that seemed the right thing to do. Like in those sappy American movies… "I tried to save him."

"They're all g-gone!" Yao sobbed, hugging Soo's dead body. "Vietnam, Taiwan, Hong Kong, South Korea, Thailand…" He heaved a sigh, as if struggling to suppress his sobs. "I don't want to lose you too, Kiku."

Kiku felt awkward at the confession. Sure, Yao had always considered him his brother, but they weren't particularly close. "What should we do, then? The rebels know where I am. They'll be here within hours."

Yao gave him a horrified look. "Then we can't stay here."

"We'll leave to a bunker, then."

"No, Kiku." Yao stood and took him by the shoulders, looking at him with serious eyes. "We have to leave the _country_."

Kiku felt his claustrophobia kick in, and he pushed Yao away. "Sorry. But how? My boss is dead and the city is crawling with rebels. We won't be able to make it to the airport."

"Do you know anyone who's able to fly a plane?"

Kiku thought for a moment, then got an idea. "Come on," He motioned for Yao to follow him as he ran out of the house. "I know where we can find one."

Yao paused at the doorway, glancing behind him ruefully before following.

Kiku and Yao ran for what felt like miles, until, finally, they reached a rundown building just outside the city. Kiku paused to catch his breath as Yao caught up.

"What… what is this?"

Kiku pointed up to the sign above the door. "Tokyo Helicopter Rides."

"Oh,"

"Let's go,"

It was dark inside, and Kiku unsheathed his katana as he entered. Yao stepped slowly in after him, wielding his large wok.

"Makoto-kun?" Kiku called out, his voice ringing off the walls. "Makoto-kun, are you here?"

"Yo!" Kiku flinched as the lights were suddenly flicked on, revealing a young man wearing a white tank top and gray sweatpants. He threw a gun back on the table he was leaning on. "Heya, Kiku. Haven't seen ya in a while, man."

"I know," Kiku began, glad the man didn't pounce on him like he always did when they met. "Do you still have the helicopter?"

"Of course!" Makoto said gleefully. "Ya know, guys, I thought you were some of them rebel mobs or somethin'. I almost pissed my pants!"

"Uh… that's nice." Kiku said with a slight grimace. "So, about the helicopter…?"

"Oh, yeah, right!" Makoto took one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it and scuffing it out with the toe of his shoe. "Right this way, my good sirs."

He led them out around the back until they were standing in front of a helicopter. "Here she is. Isn't she a beauty?"

"Sure," Kiku said, then turned to eye him seriously. Which wasn't hard considering he was Japan. "But we need to leave in it. Fast."

Makoto blinked at him. "What for? Doncha like the new scenery?"

"Makoto…"

"All right, all right," He peered around him at Yao. "So who's this guy? One of them long-haired rockers from downtown?"

"No, he's a friend of mine from China." Kiku said before Yao could retort. "He's coming with me."

"And where exactly are you going, hm?" Makoto leaned up against the helicopter, lighting another cigarette. "Planning on touring Beijing? I've heard the crowds are very friendly nowadays."

"Not exactly…" Kiku waved away the smoke. "We plan to escape to another country."

"Which one, hon? Ya know there are, like, a million countries in the world, right?"

_I doubt that… _He thought for a moment, then said the first place that he first thought of. "America. We want to go to America."

Makoto nearly dropped his cigarette in shock. "What! All the way the hell over there? Like, across an _ocean_? Nah, dude, I haven't ever gone that far."

"Please, Makoto," Yao cut in. "We really need your help. The rebels are tracking us. They could be here in less than—"

There was the sound of wood crunching and glass shattering in the building. They all froze, unable to speak as shouts erupted behind them.

"Looks like they've found you." Makoto said, putting out his cigarette and climbing into the cockpit. "Could you guys get me some fuel over there? This thing's not nearly full enough to travel an ocean."

Kiku and Yao quickly went to work, tossing in as many containers as they could before the rebels emerged from the building, guns firing as soon as they saw them. At that time, Kiku and Yao were by the building, preparing to get the last containers before they were forced to pull back. The rebels roared and ran after them, and Kiku could feel the bullets whiz by his head.

They were nearly halfway to the now running helicopter, when Yao shrieked. Kiku glanced to his side and felt his heart race as he saw that a large rebel had grabbed Yao's shoulder and was struggling to subdue him. Yao had long since put his wok in the helicopter in order to carry more containers, so he had little to defend himself with save for his fists. Kiku responded quickly, surging forward and slicing the man's arm with his katana before the rebel knew he was there. The man cried out, blood spurting from the wound and crumpled to the ground.

"Run," Kiku panted, turning to do so when he saw another rebel approaching him in his peripheral vision. He spun around at the last moment, running his katana through the man before turning to look for Yao. He was horrified to see that the Chinaman was struggling to throw off two attackers now, one at each arm. Just as Kiku was about to launch his katana at one of the men, both rebels screamed and dropped to the ground, blood welling from their stomach wounds. Befuddled, Kiku looked quizzically at Yao. Yao pushed back his sleeves to reveal blood-stained butterfly swords attached to his arms. "Just in case this happened." Yao smirked.

Kiku nodded and they both set off running again, this time making it to the cabin and clambering inside. As soon as they were in, Yao grabbed his wok and Kiku crouched with his katana raised and ready. The rebels were closing in, now only twenty yards away from the helicopter.

"Makoto!" Kiku shouted over the sound of the whirring blades.

"I'm punchin' it! Hold onto your asses, guys!" With that Makoto pulled up, allowing the helicopter to hover over the ground before it finally tilted away. Yao and Kiku were thrown back against the cabin as they shot over the building and toward the city.

Bullets still managed to hit the copter, and Kiku quickly pulled the door shut. He and Yao sat back once they were out of range, panting heavily.

"You guys okay back there?" Makoto asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Yes, we're fine." Kiku answered, wishing Makoto would turn around and watch where he was going. He was notoriously known to be a reckless flyer.

"We'll have to stop in Yokohama to refuel. I just hope the people there are more merciful."

"I doubt it." Yao said. "Everywhere I've been has yielded no such results."

"For the record, I'll have to contact any Air Traffic Control tower in the U.S. before landing anywhere. I don't think it would be a good idea to drop you guys off at an airport—or any location at that—where there are no other pilots to get you out of a jam. But we do have to land on some islands to refuel before that."

"Do whatever you think is best." Kiku said. "And Makoto?"

"Yeah, hon?"

"Please try not to crash."

"Gotcha,"

* * *

No translations!

A Word From the Writer: Yeah... I don't know who or what inspired Makoto's personality. I guess I had the urge to include someone whimsical among all the dramatic stuff.


	5. Canada

**In this situation, I wouldn't mind being invisible...**

Warning: Nothing really... except for angst.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Canada**

The wind whistled through the deserted city, the buildings crumbling and vandalized, the sky gray and heavy with rain.

Matthew pulled his hood up around his face, worrying that he would be noticed. But as he continued on through the once bustling cities, he found no signs of life.

Where was everyone?

From all the signs and advertisements around him, Matthew recognized the place to be New York City. Everything was sapped of all color, dust and debris claiming most of the city. He sighed, stopping to survey what he knew to be Times Square. The billboards were empty as well as the many large screens that surrounded the area. Many of the stores around him had either been broken into or vandalized. One particular spray-painted wall reading "Long Live the Final Judgment!" sent chills up Matthew's spine.

He felt guilty leaving his own country, but worry was gnawing at him. Was Alfred alive? Was he being tortured somewhere? Was he already dead? Matthew needed to know. He needed to know that he wasn't the only one still alive.

If there was anywhere Al would be, he knew, it would be here. But then again, Alfred also wasn't stupid enough to go anywhere a large number of angry people would most likely be, despite how idiotic he seemed sometimes. The only other place to check would be Alfred's apartment in Manhattan, but that would mean traversing the whole city to get to it, which would be very risky. He sighed, leaning against a nearby building. If only he could have put a tracking device in his brother while he could, then this would have proved a much easier task. He chuckled to himself, imagining the transmitter beeping beneath Al's skin, driving the man to think he was going to explode.

That would be mean, though. But it _would _make up for all those times he was ignored or beaten up because he was mistaken for Alfred…

A trash can clinking against the road made Matthew jump and reach for his rifle. He held it up, aiming it at the direction in which the sound came. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was only a disheveled dog, scrounging around in the contents of the trash can for food.

He kept his rifle out as he continued down an alleyway, trying his best to stay behind something that would provide him sufficient cover if he encountered a rebel. He glanced up at the sky and a raindrop planted itself on his nose. Matthew wiped it off with a groan. It would be hard to navigate through the rain, but he couldn't stop now. He _had _to find Alfred. He was so close! And, knowing Alfred, the man would be stupid enough to continue to move even through a thunderstorm. If Matthew didn't keep moving, he might miss his brother altogether.

With an agitated grunt, Matthew continued to walk through the city, being sure to survey open spaces for dangers before daring to cross them. In a way, he felt like a spy, though no one seemed there to catch him.

_Imagine that, _he thought. _Even now that the world has gone to hell, I am _still_ not seen._

_And what rough beast, its hour come round a last,_

_Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?_

* * *

No translations!

A Word From the Writer: Well, that's it for now, folks. The next few chapters will reveal who survived and who didn't, so make sure to follow!

*cough* And reviews would also be appreciated.

**Also be sure to check out my special Easter post-_Hey, It's Gilbunny!_****It will be posted on Easter ('13).**


	6. Then There Was One

**Ah, jeez. Agatha Christie left an impression on me...  
**

Warning: Angst, use of weapons.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I like manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Then There Was One**

"Jesus, finally!" Alfred burst through the doors of the airport, suddenly regretting his outburst and darting behind a large potted plant. After a few minutes of scrutinizing the lobby, Alfred deemed it safe enough to emerge.

He peered around at the large airport. Papers were strewn everywhere, luggage abandoned, silence prevailing. Alfred didn't quite know what to do. Hadn't Virginia said she had arranged a flight for him? Then who the hell was her contact?

_I wish I could have asked her for more information…_ Alfred thought ruefully as he walked toward the gates of Terminal 3. If there was anywhere someone would be hiding, it would be at the farthest most terminal. He stopped in front of the gates, looking around and gathering the courage to yell, "Hello?"

He waited. Nothing.

"Hello!" he yelled louder.

There was movement behind him and the cocking of a gun. Alfred froze where he stood, heart pounding in his chest. "Hands up,"

Alfred did so, trembling.

"Turn around,"

The man was small and dressed is a pilot's uniform and cap, a pistol in his hands. "Who are you?"

"Alfred F. Jones," he replied, his voice shaking a little. "My friend, Virginia, called here…" _God, I hope I'm telling the right person. _Alfred thought nervously.

The pilot blinked and was still for moment, then lowered his gun. "Well, it's about damn time, son."

Alfred smiled in relief. "Damn, I thought I was dead."

"You would have been if you'd aimed that at me." The pilot motioned to Alfred's handgun at his side.

Alfred laughed weakly. "Yeah, well, good thing I didn't. Heheheh…"

"It's 8:58," The pilot looked at his watch. "Looks like you arrived just in time."

"How lucky," Alfred said, clearing his throat. "So, do we leave now?"

"Let me check the plane over first to make sure it's good to go."

"Okay, tell me when you're ready. I'll go grab some food in the terminal."

The pilot gave him a nod and entered the gate that led to the plane.

Alfred sighed and planted himself in one of the many seats lined up in front of the gates. He was too exhausted at the moment to do much of anything. Although he was hungry as hell, he needed to rest for a few minutes before being able to put forth the effort to eat—which was saying a lot, since he usually ate all the time.

There was a low roar outside, and Alfred whipped his head to one of windows lining the wall and saw a helicopter landing on the tarmac. A few moments later, the pilot came racing back in, waving his arms. "They've found us! They've found us!"

Alfred bolted up from his chair so fast that he became a bit dizzy. "Who?"

"I don't know," the pilot admitted. "But whoever they are, they're not from here. I didn't recognize the copter."

"Dammit!" Alfred fumbled to remove his gun from its holster as he ran with the pilot to the opposite end of the terminal to hide and lie in wait for the new arrival. "Why have they come here? It's abandoned!"

"I have no idea." the pilot answered breathlessly. "Food, fuel… it could be anything."

"Yeah," Alfred growled. "Like killing me."

"What?"

"Nothin'."

They were almost halfway to the doors, when footsteps coming from one of the gates sounded behind them. Alfred willed his feet to move faster, his finger to remain locked and ready on the trigger of his gun.

Then, "Alfred?"

Alfred stopped, causing the pilot to skid to a halt in front of him. "What the hell are you doing, boy?"

"No… impossible…" Alfred was so stunned it took him a few seconds to turn around.

"Alfred?" came the same voice. "Alfred, is that you?"

Alfred blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "I-Iggy?"

"Alfred!" It _was _Arthur. The older blonde was staring at him in awe."Alfred!"

"Arthur!"

Arthur threw down his bags and ran to Alfred. He was met halfway, and Arthur immediately wrapped his arms around the younger man's neck. "Alfred, thank God."

"Iggy…" Alfred muttered, hugging him back and feeling his throat grow scratchy. This reminded him of when Arthur used to hug him as a child, when he was crying and confused… he had been robbed of that comfort for a long time, and now it was intensified by the fact that Arthur was here and alive. "I thought you were dead."

"Well," Arthur chuckled. "I'm not."

"Who the hell is he?"

The pilot was standing behind them, a puzzled and fearful look on his face.

Alfred and Arthur parted. Alfred laughed in embarrassment as he explained, "No worries, man. This is my friend from England."

Arthur extended his hand. "Arthur Kirkland. Sorry for the fright."

"No problem, no problem." The pilot had an amusing look of immense relief on his face. He took Arthur's hand and gave it a firm shake. "You see, I've been trying to keep this place on the down low for a while now."

"Ah," Arthur took a moment to peer around before continuing, "It seems you've succeeded."

"Well, yes." the pilot said sheepishly.

"Hey, uh…"

"Captain Roberts,"

"So, Captain Roberts," Alfred began slowly. "Since Arthur's here, can you forestall the flight? We both need some rest."

"Okay," Roberts looked a bit crestfallen, but he gave them a cheery smile. "I'll be in the radio room. Believe it or not, I still have some contacts with others."

Alfred's heart pounded. "Have you heard from Virginia recently?"

The Captain shook his head. "Sorry, no. Not since she arranged your flight. I'm afraid I haven't been able to contact her."

"Oh," Alfred felt guilt gnaw at his already empty belly. _I should have gone to help her. But then I wouldn't have met Iggy… dammit! Why does the world have to be such an asshole sometimes?_

The pilot waved as he departed, leaving Alfred and Arthur alone in the middle of the terminal.

Alfred stumbled as Arthur leaned heavily against him. "Uh… Artie, are you okay?"  
"I'm just a tad tired." Arthur mumbled. "I feel like I haven't slept in months."

"You probably haven't," Alfred said. "If you've been through anything like I have." He guided Arthur over to the row of seats lined up in front of Gate 3. Arthur sunk down into one of the chairs, head propped up by his hand. Alfred situated himself beside him and asked hesitantly, "What _have _you gone through, Iggy?"

"Please, Alfred," Arthur groaned quietly. "Not now. I just… need to rest right now."

Alfred's heart gave a worried flutter as he examined Arthur's face. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were hollow. His hair was mussed and hid skin covered in a layer of dirt and sweat. His suit was splattered with a reddish stain that Alfred suspiciously thought was blood. But there was something about his expression that concerned Alfred the most. It was something he had seen on Arthur only once before, something that he couldn't quite pinpoint. Was it sadness? Regret? Grief? He couldn't tell. Hell, at this point, it could be all three.

Alfred remained quiet, stroking the torn fabric of Arthur's sleeve until he himself had dozed off into much-needed slumber.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Wow, this was short, huh? I'm sorta trying to write short chapters so that they don't seem all daunting and shit. Honestly, it's not just to annoy the hell out of people when they're having to scroll down and click the 'Next' button after about five minutes of reading... nope, _totally_ not that. XD


	7. Then There Were Two

**More nations are arriving~!  
**

Warning: Angst, weapons, a suicide.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Then There Were Two**

Arthur was jolted awake by an echoing bellow, flinching and giving a startled shout before the sound dissipated and he relaxed some.

"Alfred," he turned to the snoring man, who, amazingly, hadn't even woken. "Alfred… dammit, Alfred, wake up!" Arthur flicked the younger man's ear.

Alfred jolted awake, mumbling incoherently, "… ance, get your hand out of my pants… ow!" He held his ear and winced. "Hey! What was that for? Ya know, I was tryin' to sleep, and I'm damn tired!"

"Shut it, git." Arthur snapped, peering around the terminal before asking, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Arthur looked incredulously at him. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Trust me, Igs, I'm not in the joking mood. Now what in the hell are you talking about?"

"That…" Arthur searched for the right word, but couldn't find one. "… _sound_?"

Alfred gave him a concerned look. "Did you knock your head on the way over here?"

"Insufferable smartarse," Arthur growled. "You were snoring too loud to hear it yourself."

Alfred laughed a bit at that. "Pfft, I don't snore."

Arthur gave him a skeptical look. "Don't give me that shit when _I_ raised you." Alfred was about to retort, but Arthur quickly went on, "It sounded loud. Quite loud, actually. Too close to be from the outside and too soft to be something keeling over."

Alfred's face went serious. "Damn… you don't think they found us?"

"Who?"

"The rebels," Alfred replied worriedly. "A couple of them found me and chased me for while until I finally escaped. They're looking for me or anyone who has supposedly 'deceived' them. They call all government-affiliated people 'Deceivers' by the way…"

"What does this have to do with me?"

Alfred paled a bit. "That's right… crap, now that you're here, if they find us… they'll kill us or worse."

"Worse?"

"My friend, his name was Sam," Alfred's voice cracked a bit. "He was captured and tortured because of suspicions by the rebels that he knew my whereabouts. He told them where I was, then was… raped and shot dead."

Arthur felt all the blood drain from his face. "That's… that's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Alfred said. "He was a good friend. I just wish I could have been there for him."

Alfred was looking sad, so Arthur thought it best to redirect the conversation. He glanced at his watch. "Shit, we've been asleep for thirty-five minutes."

"So what? I say we should have slept longer."

"No, you git!" Arthur said. "Because of our inattentiveness, we have no idea what that sound was."

"Wanna find out?" Alfred waggled his eyebrows.

Arthur stood, rolling his eyes. "We'd better."

"Right," Alfred followed. "Where did it come from?"

Arthur surveyed the terminal. "There, I believe." He pointed toward the radio room.

"But," Alfred began slowly. "That's where Roberts went…"

"I know," Arthur's hands were trembling now.

"Here," Alfred slipped a pocketknife out of his bag. "Take this. We're gonna look for him."

Arthur scoffed. "That's hardly necessary." He rummaged in his coat pocket before revealing a loaded pistol. Alfred's surprised look made him laugh. "Do you honestly think that I would go around defenseless in this hellhole?"

Alfred shrugged and led the way across the terminal and to the radio room.

Alfred entered first, of course, and Arthur rolled his eyes when the younger man proceeded to crouch and move about in a ridiculous display of covert maneuvers. "Get up, git."

"Shh!" Alfred hissed, and Arthur scoffed. "Turn on the lights."

Arthur did so and they both gasped at the sight.

Blood was dripping across the counter and onto the floor, all over the equipment. Roberts was seated in the swivel chair, slumped across the counter, blood still dripping from his jaw. A pistol was held limply in his hand. Alfred stepped forward to examine him closer. He turned to Arthur and confirmed, "Shot up through the chin."

"A suicide?" Arthur was in disbelief. "But why would he want to…?"

Just then, static erupted on the radio and he hurried over to it, trying to decipher what was being said through the noise.

_"… to Baron, Rusty to Baron, when will you give the all clear?"_

_"10 tomorrow morning… guns and grenades ready… all out assault on Terminal 3… finally smoke that bastard out…"_

"Fuck!" Alfred cursed, snatching up Arthur's arm and pulling him toward the seats.

"Alfred, what the bloody hell are you doing?" Arthur squirmed. "Let me go!"

"They're coming!" Alfred said frantically. "They're going to storm this Terminal and we don't have a pilot!"

"What do you suppose we do?" Arthur growled. "Go outside where they're probably keeping watch?"

"No!" Alfred dug his hands into his hair in frustration and sat promptly in a chair. "I-I don't know… there's no way out."

Arthur sat down beside him, swallowing his cowardice and saying, "Well, this won't do. Do you honestly think getting frantic over this will solve it?"

"No…"

"Then perk up, lad." Arthur snapped. "We'll have to defend this terminal, then. And we won't give up until they've shot us dead."

Alfred winced. "Don't you think that's… a pretty violent way to go?"

"America!"

"All right, all right," Alfred waved a dismissive hand. "I'm with ya. But you have to promise you won't nag me for the rest of the time we're alive."

Arthur snorted. "I do _not _nag!"

"Remember, Artie, _you_ raised me."

"Shut it," Arthur snapped and was about to make a snide remark, when a sound reached his ears. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"Deaf sod! _Listen_."

"I'm just kidding, jeez!" Alfred scoffed. "Can't take a joke…" He was silent for a moment before his heart started pounding. "That's… a plane engine."

"They must be flying in!" Arthur concluded. He cocked his gun. "We'll surprise them. Get on that side of the gate."

They both stood opposite each other beside the arc that marked the entrance to the plane. They held their breath as the plane approached Gate 4, stopping, the door sliding open, then closing. Footsteps could be heard… along with the cocking of a gun.

"Get ready," Arthur mouthed. "Three… two… one… now!"

Arthur shouted the last word and both men lunged forward until they were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, guns aimed and ready at the intruder.

The man gave a startled cry and pointed his gun at them in turn. They stared at each other for a long while before Arthur lowered his pistol and muttered, half in shock, half in disgust, _"Frog?"_

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: You know England had to live. He was a goddamn empire, there's no way he's going down that easily! But... now they have no pilot. England, did you bring bad luck with you? :D


	8. Then There Were Four

**Oooh... I skipped a number.  
**

Warning: Angst, weapons.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Then There Were Four**

Francis stood there, shaking as the other two men glared at him, fingers on the triggers of their guns. His hands were trembling, but that didn't stop him from snatching the gun from his bag and aiming it at them. He was so anxious that he paid no heed to the identities of his attackers.

That was, until one of them lowered his weapon and began to scrutinize his face from afar. _"Frog?"_

Francis was so shocked at first, that he didn't know what to say. There was only one voice that held such an arrogant and nagging tone… he knew it quite well. "A-Angleterre?"

"France," came another voice, and the other man returned his gun to its holster at his side and scurried up to him, placing his hands on Francis's shoulders, smiling broadly. "Hey, man! Long time, no see!"

"America?" Francis felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach… which, in truth, wasn't just from his great surprise. "How are you here—together?"

"I just got here from England." Arthur replied. "You took a flight as well?"

"I almost didn't, honestly." Francis sighed ruefully. "I only wish I could have convinced my boss to come with me…"

"We all wish that—" Arthur began.

"… but at least I know you're okay, mon belle Angleterre!" And he surged forward, pouncing on Arthur and planting him with kisses. Arthur shouted and kicked at Francis, finally managing to clock him in the jaw. Francis recoiled with a hurt look. "It does not comfort you to know that I'm alive as well?"

"On the contrary," Arthur sniffed, dusting himself off. "It makes me wish I brought that chastity belt that I bought for you…"

"Oh, don't say things like that, mon ami." Francis pouted, then smirked. "Besides, you would be forever hated and condemned by the world if you prevented me from making lo—"

"—Oookay!" Alfred cut in, standing between the two men and throwing his arms around each of their shoulders. It wasn't like Alfred was a prude, but it was sort of weird seeing Francis trying to pick Arthur up, especially after an incident when a much younger Alfred had accidentally walked in on them preparing to get it on. He was still scarred—by the scene he saw or the awkward sex talk he'd received from Arthur afterward, he didn't know. "Isn't this nice, we're here, together, just how it used to be?"

"Not if you count 'used to be' as us fighting over you." Arthur growled, folding his arms.

Francis sighed. "Oui, but the only one missing is mon petit lapin. Have you heard from Mathieu lately?"

"Mattie, huh?" Alfred thought for a moment. "The last time I had any contact with him was three months ago."

Arthur turned on him. "He's your brother and you haven't spoken with him in _three months_?"

Alfred put his hands up in an attempt to defend himself. "Whoa, chill out, Igs. It hasn't exactly been a picnic over here. I had to deal with angry citizens and bounty hunters and the phone lines were cut off a few weeks ago." Then he added with a smirk. "Besides, we had sex our last meeting, so it was pretty memorable."

Arthur's shocked look made him laugh. "How long have you two been having—_relations_—such as these?"

"My question exactly, Amerique." Francis commented. "But I don't mind hearing the details too."

"France! Could you stop being a pervert for once?"

"I seriously doubt that, mon cher. My reputation forbids it."

"Anywho…" Alfred continued. "Let's just say it's been ongoing—though casual, it's an open relationship—and that I'm really worried. I just wish I could have found the time to see or speak to him. I hope he's okay."

Francis sighed dreamily. "Oh, how romantic~"

"You disgust me," Arthur snarled. "They're _brothers_."

Francis grinned at him. "Which makes it _forbidden_ love!"

"Perhaps I should start calling you 'Toad'."

"Oh, come on, Angleterre." Francis groaned. "Do you honestly think that other nations that are siblings haven't had sex with each other before?"

"No… but I do think that _you _have."

"Au contraire, chéri," Francis gave his signature charming smile. "I haven't managed to snag _you_ yet."

"And you never will." Arthur flashed back, making Francis pout.

"Not even with the world ending? Before we die, won't you take pity on me and let me make lo—"

"Okay!" Alfred (aka the cockblock) cut in yet again. "Now, right, down to business. Francis, you'll need to help us since you have a gun. You see, I was trying to take a flight out of here before Iggy suddenly came on a helicopter and we both fell asleep and then we heard this _mega_ loud gunshot—"

"Long story short, we need you to help us defend this terminal from rebels determined to kill us off." Arthur finished for him with agitation. "So, are you up for it?"

Francis sighed, leaning against the wall wearily. "Well, I guess I have no choice. When will they be arriving?"

"10 tomorrow morning,"

Francis stiffened, worsening his already strained back. "Great,"

"So," Alfred urged excitedly. "Is that a 'yes'?"

"Oui," Francis said regretfully. "I will help."

"All right!" Alfred jumped and let out an echoing whoop… which made Arthur pull his ear sharply.

"But only on one condition." Francis added with a smirk, eyes wandering longingly to Arthur.

Arthur took a moment to glare at him. "If you imply that I must have sex with you, don't waste your breath."

Francis pouted. "You're no fun, Angleterre."

"That's not the first time I've heard that, so that insult won't faze me, sorry." Arthur retorted.

"That's right," Alfred cut in proudly. "I told him that first."

"Shut it, git, before I _hack _your ears off. You wouldn't need them anyway, considering you're deaf as a pole."

Alfred was about to retort, but footsteps approaching made them all freeze. Arthur could feel the hairs stand on the back of his neck. They all reached for their guns, aiming them in the direction of the sound.

A meek blonde man paused in the middle of the terminal at the sight of the three armed men, dropping his bag abruptly and putting his hands up. "Don't shoot! Wait… Al?"

"Mattie," Alfred pocketed his weapon and rushed forward to meet him. They both hugged for a long while. Francis sighed dreamily beside Arthur, causing the Briton to punch him in the shoulder.

"Damn, you worried me sick." Alfred admitted quietly so the others couldn't hear him. He didn't like the idea of being ridiculed as a worthless sap for the remaining few days he might be alive.

Matthew blushed, trying to not get teary-eyed. He'd already lost Cuba, so seeing that his brother was still alive was more than a blessing. "You don't have to, you know."

"It's already hardwired into my brain, bro, can't help that." Alfred replied with a smile. "So… how the hell did you manage to get down here anyway?" By now Francis and Arthur had joined them, forcing Alfred to return to his usual, herolike self.

Matthew slipped a rifle out from his pack and motioned to it. "You're really asking a seasoned hunter that?"

Alfred smirked. "I thought that old tradition of yours had worn out."

Matthew scoffed. "Not even a little. And my survival skills are far better than you know." Then he added with a sneer. "At least _I _can survive from what I shoot or gather instead of relying on fastfood all the time."

Alfred crossed his arms and defied childishly, "I do not! Since when did you expect was the last time there was a McDonald's open around here? Not for a few months, I'll tell you that."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'm just glad to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Canada." Arthur stepped forward to pat him on the back.

Francis followed shortly after, giving him a hug. "Oh, mon lapin, I thought you were dead. I should have contacted you the moment the riots broke out. Je suis désolé_._"

"Tu n'as pas besoin de s'excuser, Papa." Matthew reassured. "Je suis bien_._"

"Of course you are, Mathieu. I raised you, after all." Francis grinned.

After a short moment of silence—in which Francis and Matthew gazed at each other in adoration and Alfred proceeded to try to figure out what the hell was just exchanged—Arthur snorted, "What kind of compliment was that, Frog?"

Francis stared at him in disbelief. "You… know what we said?"

Arthur looked insulted. "What, did you think I was as thick as America? Of course I did, you git!"

"Since when have you known French?" Alfred gawked.

"Ever since France and I were rivals," Arthur retorted. "I needed to know how to insult him in his own language and after that, I just figured I'd learn the whole thing."

"How much more do we not know about you?" Alfred asked curiously.

Arthur smirked. "Quite a bit, actually, but I'm not willing to reveal all of my secrets." He smirked slyly.

"Uh…" Alfred began seriously, putting an hand on his shoulder. "If you're implying your 'secret' about your hallucinations, we already know."

Arthur slapped his hand away, growling, "They're not hallucinations, git! They're real, live magical beings!"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Sure, man, you keep believing that."

"So," Francis asked quickly, preventing Arthur from retorting. "How many other languages do you know?"

"Well," Arthur began, ticking them off on his fingers. "There's Anglo-Saxon, though I doubt that really counts seeing as it was one of the first variations of English. Gaelic, Welsh, French, Latin, Spanish, German, Italian, Russian, Hungarian, Portuguese, Dutch, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, Turkish, Hebrew, Arabic, Farsi, Greek, and Hindi. I also know a few hieroglyphics and Sanskrit as well as some basic criteria of Nordic and Slavic languages. But I'm striving to learn more."

They all looked at him in shock, mouths agape.

"Is it even _possible _for someone to know so much?" Alfred asked in amazement.

Arthur grinned with pride. "Well, heheh, only for those with _special _minds."

Alfred thought for a moment. "You're not talking about your hallucinations again, are you?"

"No!"

"Why do you feel the need to, though?" Francis asked curiously.

Arthur folded his arms. "Because, unlike the lot of you, I actually _prefer_ being knowledgeable."

"Don't get such a big head, ami." Francis accused haughtily.

"_I _have a big head—?"

"Guys!" Matthew shouted in his meek voice, surprisingly silencing them. "Quiet. Do you hear that?"

They all listened for a moment and then Alfred groaned, "Not _another _plane!"

"This is good," Arthur said.

"_Good?_ Are you okay, Artie?"

"Of course I am!" Arthur snapped. "But seeing as Francis and I were directed to this airport—and this particular _terminal_, at that—don't you suspect the possibility that more nations are headed to this very spot?"

They all looked at each other, smiles erupting on their faces as they came to the realization.

"Ya know, Iggy," Alfred said with a laugh. "you're smarter than we thought."

Arthur smiled. "Why thank you Alf—" He paused as he took in what the other man just said, then rounded on him, shouting, "Shut your mouth, you impertinent brat! I'll have you know that mocking my intelligence is a very stupid and dangerous thing to—!"

Guns cocking caught their attention

* * *

Translations:

Je suis désolé_-_I am sorry

Tu n'as pas besoin de s'excuser-You do not need to apologize

Je suis bien-I am well

A Word From the Writer: Yes, I made England a brainiac. Why? Because he's awesome like that.

And I left you with a cliffhanger, haha! Oh, I'm evil. Who do you think they will be? Post your guess.

**!Attention! **_Prussia Cottontail_ is posted on my AO3 account since the mods took it down here. There's a link at the top of my profile if you want to read it.

Cheers.


	9. Then There Were Six

**The awesome has arrived.  
**

Warning: Weapons, injuries, angst, betting on lives.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Then There Were Six**

—And they whipped around to see none other than Ludwig and Gilbert. Immediately, the two brothers lowered their weapons, Gilbert waving at them and shouting, "Hey! If it isn't the whole family here to greet the awesome Prussia!"

"Shut up, bruder." Ludwig growled, studying the other refugees. "You have all been here for how long?"

"Ah, don't be like that, Germany." Alfred pouted. "Aren't you glad to see us?"

"Gilbert, mon ami." Francis strode over to him with a broad smile. "It's good to see you're in one piece."

Gilbert chuckled. "Kesese, almost wasn't." He turned to reveal the bloody gashes in his back from the glass.

Francis emitted a small gasp as he examined the damage. "It looks like you were attacked by a bear."

"I'll go with that story, then. Kesesese," Gilbert smirked.

Alfred, being his usual, nosy self, craned his neck to get a good view and winced. "Jesus, Gil, what the fuck happened?"

"We'll get to that later." Ludwig waved a dismissive hand and set down his pack, rummaging in it. "You four don't happen to have any medical supplies, do you?"

"Are you kidding me?" Alfred laughed. "I'm indestructible! Of course I don't have any, man."

"You're not helping, America." Arthur snapped, then continuing considerably more politely, "I'm sorry, mate, I had to leave in a hurry. I didn't have time to grab any."

"It was the same with me, ami." Francis said sympathetically.

"I might have some…" Everyone looked at Matthew, who blanched at the sudden stares. It took him a moment to gather himself long enough to dig through his supply pack. When he found the first aid kit, he sighed with relief and tossed it over to Ludwig. The man caught it with ease, and motioned to Gilbert. "Bruder, come here."

Gilbert snorted, folding his arms. "I really don't need that, West. I'm awesome. Honestly, I think these will heal well on their own."

Ludwig gave him a skeptical look, then demanded in a voice as hard as steel, "Don't give me that load of scheiße. You need medicine, so get your ass over here _right now_." The last two words were ground out between his teeth. It was quite obvious that their flight over to the airport had exasperated Ludwig.

Gilbert feigned a pleading look. "Only if you say 'your _awesome_ ass.'"

_"Gilbert!"_

"Okay! Okay! Sheesh," Gilbert walked over to where his brother crouched over the kit and sat down in the chair before him. "Can't take a joke…"

"A-Alfred?" Matthew asked quietly.

Alfred gave him a warm look. "Yeah, Mattie?"

"I'm feeling a bit tired… I've traveled miles on foot, and it'd be nice if I could rest…"

"Sure, man. C'mon." Alfred led him over to the rows of chairs sitting in front of one of the gates a ways away from the group. "I'm sorry. It's not much, but this is all I've got."

Matthew smiled at his fawning. He really was trying. And you could tell, because Alfred would normally clench and unclench his hands as well as bite his lip when he was nervous or thinking really hard. It was a habit that Alfred had had for a while, but that he himself didn't even seem to notice. "I've had to sleep on the cold, hard ground in the woods for a few weeks, so this chair looks like heaven to me."

"Yeah, well," Alfred laughed sheepishly. "Enjoy."

He ran a hand through Matthew's hair as he settled down. The Canadian gave him a tired smile in reassurance, and Alfred rejoined the group.

"… hold still, dammit."

"I _am_, Lud. But you're being a bit—Ah!—rough."

Ludwig was digging his fingers into Gilbert's wounds (which honestly was pretty sickening to watch). "I can't help if the glass is deep down in the skin, bruder." Then he said, with bitter humor. "You did this to yourself, you know."

"Are you complaining that the awesome me saved you?"

Ludwig frowned and purposely ripped a shard of glass from Gilbert's back. Gilbert nearly shrieked and arched away from him. "I suggest you remain silent."

Gilbert did just that the rest of the time he was being treated.

Meanwhile, Arthur was pacing the rows of chairs in front of Gate 4, hands gripping his pistol. Francis came striding over to him, relatively calm.

"What do you want, Frog? No one to molest around here?"

"You're pacing," Francis said flatly, ignoring Arthur's jibe.

Arthur looked offended. "You don't think I already know that, git?"

"It's what you do when you're panicked."

_"I'm not panicked!"_

Francis didn't flinch despite Arthur's raised voice, instead raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Arthur gave a frustrated groan, sitting himself in one of the chairs. "All right, perhaps I am. But I'm not the only one, surely. After all, we all do face the very likely possibility of being killed."

Francis let out a soft laugh. "I thought England was always ready for an attack."

"I _am _always ready!"

"Then why are you so nervous?"

"Because I couldn't—!" Arthur began, shooting up from his chair until he stood nose-to-nose with Francis. His hands were balled into fists, and he would have given anything to yell at him with all his might, but couldn't find the words to. _Because I couldn't save them… _was what he was about to say, but the words caught in his throat and if he said them, he was afraid that he'd break down right there. He eventually calmed and stepped away, keeping his gaze steady with Francis, despite how incredibly embarrassed he felt. "I am _not _panicked. I am _not _nervous. And I am ready for _anything_."

A look of concern flickered across Francis's face—something that Arthur definitely did _not _want. "You sound as if you are telling yourself that, ami."

Arthur paused a moment, making sure that he wouldn't raise his voice as he had. "I am. This is not a sane world, Francis, if you haven't noticed. It's starting to get to me, especially with all the death I've seen. Sure, I've seen similar things during my days as a pirate and during the wars, but it never struck me as hard as this. Seeing my people die because of what they accuse me of, having to fight them to stay alive, knowing they hate me… it's the worst feeling I've ever had."

Francis's face softened. "I know how you feel, mon ami."

Arthur had the urge to shout 'No, you don't!' but he didn't know what Francis had gone through. He just felt like he was trying to grasp at his future with oiled hands—it simply couldn't be done.

"Well, he's asleep." Alfred approached them with a relieved look. "Later I'll check him for injuries. Speaking of which…" His eyes wandered over to Arthur. "I've been meaning to check you over. That isn't your blood, is it?"

"No, it isn't." It was clear Alfred wanted him to elaborate, but Arthur changed the subject. "So, since we all have nothing to lose, how about we wager on who we think is still alive?"

Francis and Alfred eyed each other.

"You want us to," Alfred began cautiously. "bet on lives?"

"Yes," Arthur said, knowing full well it was wrong, but not caring in the least. He just needed something to distract him from the memories of Lennox and his other brothers. "And since the money we currently have is worthless now, I suggest we bid using… certain keepsakes we brought along with us."

Francis snorted. "How dare you think that I would be selfish enough to bring something completely unnecessary along?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know you have _something_, Francis. I can smell that ghastly cologne you've always worn."

"Oh, so you've noticed?" Francis batted his eyes.

"Okay, then," Alfred smirked cockily. "But I must warn you, I'm quite good at betting. The Kentucky Derby ain't no lie. I have ESP for this kind of shit."

"Sure," Arthur said flatly, then picked up his bag, rummaging through it before finding what he was looking for. He displayed it proudly in his palm. "A compass, and not one of the crappy ones they make nowadays. This is from when I was a pirate."

Alfred now showed off his own item. "Authentic Chippewa dreamcatcher. It absorbs negative images in dreams, and its power has been enhanced by a shaman. It's good luck. The chief of one of the _odoodemaan_ (1) gave it to me as a peace offering many years ago."

Alfred smiled when he received rather surprised stares from Francis and Arthur.

Francis then cleared his throat and produced his item. It was a little sac he dangled delicately from his fingertips. "An aphrodisiac. One of the most potent in the world. Very rare, and very handy when it comes to wooing that special someone~" He sang the last few words and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Arthur scoffed. "_Of course_ you would bring that, of all things."

"Ironic," Francis smirked. "I've been keeping this for a while and have been planning to use it on you." Then he sighed woefully. "But I guess I'll have to give that plan up… for now."

Arthur scoffed and tried to hide his blush. "Whatever. Alfred, you're up. You can list only four people you think are still alive and one that you think is not."

"Okay, then. Lemme think, hmm…" Alfred's eyes focused on the ceiling as he thought, a finger stroking his chin. Arthur and Francis sighed as they waited for a quite a long time. "I think that Japan, China, Turkey, and the Italian bros—let's just make them count as one person, I mean, they're really one country, right?—are still alive. But definitely _not _Russia. He's not nearly as heroic and brave as me."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'll go next. I believe that the remaining survivors besides us are China, Japan, _Russia_,"—Arthur smirked as he put emphasis on the name and Alfred shot him a glare—"and the Vargas's. I don't think Turkey could have survived with his history."

"I suppose that makes me last, then." Francis said, then began, "Hmm… That would be China, Japan, Turkey, and Russia. There is a very slim possibility that Lovino and Feliciano could have survived, though I regret saying it."

Alfred's nose scrunched up in confusion. "How the hell did we end up listing the same people?"

"That _is _a bit uncanny." Arthur said, contemplating it. "Well, perhaps we think the same—though I highly doubt it's the _exact _same—way? So… why did you choose those nations, Alfred?"

"Well… Japan is a supercool ninja and he also has a _ton _of technology, so I went on that theory. I figured that since China is _mega _old, that he's wise in this area. I mean, how else could he have survived as long as he has? Then there's Turkey… I hate the shit out of him, but I have to admit, he's a persistent son of a bitch. Trust me, I've had to deal with his descendents. And I don't think there's any reason I have to explain why I think Russia is dead."

Arthur began, "Unlike _you_, America, I haven't let my previous grievances with other countries get in the way of my predictions. Japan and China I chose for mostly the same reasons as you, except for the fact that Japan advances very fast and is good at dealing with sudden changes. The Vargas's seemed too cowardly and scatter-brained for me to choose first, but after some thought I figured with both their minds working in sync, they could have pretty decent chance. Besides, they're good at running away. Russia I chose because I know that after his particularly bloody past, he most likely won't let himself become weakened by the Uprising. Turkey was a tough choice, but I concluded that after being the former Ottoman Empire—and he was weak during his last few decades of life and didn't adjust to change well at that stage—being as stubborn and proud as he is, he won't stand a chance."

Francis then went on, "China and Japan I chose for the same reasons as both of you, and Turkey I chose because he _is _persistent and was taught by his mistakes and he also ruled at one point most of the Balkans and Middle East. Russia was easy for me to choose… he did prove to be unusually strong during my Revolution and resilient during his thereafter. That, and he also is known to have a violent streak. Lovino and Feliciano, though, are a pair who don't adapt well to violence. Most likely, they're still trapped in their own countries and will remain there until someone rescues them, like they always have been. My poor Lovino, how I miss him…" He sighed regretfully.

They had been so engrossed in their conversation and Gilbert and Ludwig were shouting so loudly at each other, that none of them noticed the whir of helicopter blades just outside until just a minute before the passengers emerged from the Gate.

The group heard them way before they saw them. Entering the terminal was a peeved Lovino and a hysterical Feliciano.

* * *

No translations

References:

1-_Odoodemaan _is the plural form of 'clan' in _Ojibwemowin_, the language of the Ojibwe (commonly known as the Chippewa) native to Northern Midwest and Northeast America and Southern Canada.

A Word From the Writer: You all know this couldn't be a good fic without the Italies. And does anyone think England is a _little _uptight? No?


	10. Then There Were Eight

**And cue the hard-assery. XD  
**

Warning: Weapons, injuries, innuendo.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Then There Were Eight**

"You idiot!" Lovino was shouting at the top of his lungs, struggling to walk with Feliciano leaning on him for support. "Do you not know how to take care of yourself?"

"Lovino, please don't shout!" Feliciano was in tears. "Please don't be angry with me! I didn't mean to!"

"What do you mean you didn't _mean _to?" Lovino asked venomously.

Feliciano fidgeted on Lovino's arm, making his injured shoulder smart. "I-I d-don't know! I was s-scared! Please, don't hate m-me!"

Lovino rolled his eyes, trying to hide the fact that his own brother thought that he hated him made his heart sink. "Of course I don't hate you, dammit."

"Lovino?" Francis stood frozen, pleasantly surprised.

"Looks like you were wrong, Frog." Arthur smirked.

"Wine Bastard?" Lovino looked up in shock. "England? America?" He frowned. "Potato Bastard and Potato Bastard's brother?"

"And Canada," Alfred added, walking over and throwing Feliciano's other arm over his shoulders. He helped the still-crying man hobble his way over to the chairs.

"How the hell did you guys get here?" Lovino asked, settling down in the chair next to his brother, who buried his face in Lovino's uninjured shoulder and continued sobbing. Lovino gently patted Feliciano's head as he continued, "Was there some sort of message I didn't receive?" He looked more than a bit peeved now.

"No, we were just directed here." Arthur replied.

"Eh, look who is joining us!" Gilbert called from across the room. He stood and waggled his hips. "The party is just starting, right bruder? Kesesese,"

Ludwig glared at him. "Shut up and sit down." He waited until Gilbert did as he asked before walking over to investigate, wiping his bloody hands on his shirt. "Veneziano?"

Feliciano lifted his face from his brother's shoulder and sniffed, his eyes puffy. "G-Germany!" He moved to attach himself to the other man, but Lovino prevented him from doing so.

"Don't go near the Potato Bastard, fratello."

"You look hurt." Ludwig said to Lovino, eyes examining his bloody shoulder.

Lovino hissed. "Touch me, and I'll rip your wurst off, bastard."

"Whoa, there, Romano." Alfred said, craning his neck to get a good look at his injuries. "There's no need to get hostile. And… Germany does have point."

"Nosy git…" Arthur muttered.

Lovino sat back in his chair, still holding his sniveling brother with his good arm. "It's nothing. Feli's in worse shape than I am by far."

A flash of concern showed in Ludwig's eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. "Oh? What happened?"

Lovino sighed. "The damn idiot nearly starved himself to death."

Francis looked worried. "Mon Dieu! How horrible. How?"

Lovino glared at him. "What do you mean _how_, Wine Bastard? He fucking starved himself, what else can I say?"

"Well," Feliciano began after a few sniffles. "The Uprising broke out and it was really scary, so I didn't come out of my house and tried to call Lovi, but he wouldn't answer, so I tried calling Germany, but he didn't answer either, and I didn't know Japan's phone number, and I didn't know where Lovino was so I sat in the corner of my living room and listened to the gunshots, and it was so scary, and I didn't answer my phone because I thought the bad people could trace my calls, and I didn't eat because I was too scared to get up, so I didn't move and stayed as still and as quiet as I could for a few days, then I heard a loud noise outside, and I cried because I thought it was the bad people coming to get me, so when I heard someone knocking at my door and shouting for me to let them in I said 'Go away' but then I realized it was Lovi, so I opened the door and he came in and started yelling at me because he was angry I didn't take care of myself, and then he said he came in a helicopter and picked me up because I my legs felt all tingly and numb and carried me out to the helicopter and started climbing the ladder up to the cabin, and then the rebels found us and started shooting at us and I got really scared and started crying again, and Lovino told me to climb onto his stomach so that I wouldn't get hit, but I didn't want to because I was afraid I would fall off, but he shouted at me and I did, and then I was grateful for doing it because I would have been shot if I stayed on his back, so Lovino climbed until we reached the cabin and he pushed me into it, and when I turned around to help pull him up, he took a bullet to the shoulder and started dangling by one hand and I thought I was going to lose him and started crying again, and it was so hard to hold him by myself because he was so _heavy_, and he kept telling me to let him go but I said that I wouldn't and then I pulled him into the cabin and he shut the door and I cried again and Lovino told me we were coming here and said that he hoped America was still alive, even Germany, and then we came here and I felt dizzy and Lovino kept yelling at me to stay awake, and I cried because I thought he hated me for not looking after myself and now we're here and I'm so glad to see everyone and now I feel… a little… tired…" Feliciano panted from the effort of telling his long story and laid his head back on Lovino's shoulder.

"So," Ludwig said. "That's why I couldn't reach Veneziano."

Francis raised his eyebrows. "Where exactly _were_ you, Lovino?"

"That's none of your business, Wine Bastard!" Lovino snapped.

"Cool it, bro." Alfred said. "We only wanna help you."

"Ja," Gilbert said, suddenly standing among them. Arthur and Alfred flinched when they saw him standing behind them when he wasn't there just a moment ago. "My awesomeness will heal you!"

"Shut up, Prussia." Arthur growled, then offered his hand to Feliciano. "We want to help you Veneziano. Will you let us?"

Lovino glared at him for a long while before finally letting go of his brother and saying, "As long as the Potato Bastards and the Wine Bastard don't touch him."

Francis looked hurt. "But I missed you, Lovi. Didn't you miss me, too?"

Lovino scoffed, standing to help his brother into Arthur's arms. "_You_? Why in the hell would I miss a perverted, wine-drinking, cheese-sniffing bastard?"

Francis pouted. "Oh, you don't mean that, cher."

Ludwig approached Lovino slowly from the side, placing his hands gently on his injured shoulder. "This looks bad. It has gone right through the muscle."

Lovino rounded on Ludwig, shaking him off his arm. "Get away from me, Wurst Breath!" Then he gave a growl of pain, hunching over and grabbing his left arm as it throbbed from the injury in his shoulder. "_Dammit…_"

Francis rushed forward, providing Lovino support as he swayed a bit, dizzy from the pain. "Sit down, ami. You lost a lot of blood."

Lovino glared at him. "Don't, ngh, don't touch me, bastard…"

"What the hell is all this noise?" Matthew's small voice had an undertone of annoyance as he pushed his way through the group circled around the two brothers. Matthew's indigo eyes widened when he saw them. "Oh, the Italy's? Are you all right?"

"Of course we're not…!" Lovino snarled, angered by the pain, and he couldn't think of an insult because he didn't know who the hell this was. "Uh…"

Matthew frowned. "Canada. Have it your way, then. I _could_ help you, though."

Alfred stared at him. "What fucking university did _you _go to, man?"

Matthew smirked. "The University of Preparedness." Then he pushed past them to where Feliciano was leaning on Arthur.

"He hasn't eaten anything in a few days." Arthur reported. "And hasn't moved from a single spot in two."

Matthew examined him for a moment before concluding, "Yep, dehydrated and malnourished. The muscles in his legs are also cramped from sitting in the same position for too long, that's probably why he can't feel them. He also seems to have a slight fever." Matthew tested his forehead with his hand. "Nothing I can't handle. I've packed all the necessary equipment, so he'll be fine within a couple of days."

"And what about Lovino?" Francis queried, worry-stricken.

Matthew turned to him, and nearly gasped with the sight of a massive blood stain soaking Lovino's left sleeve. He walked over to him, fingers gently prodding around the wound, ignoring the hisses and insults Lovino muttered under his breath. "The bullet's still lodged in his shoulder. You were right, Germany. Tore straight through the deltoid muscle. This'll take a lot more time to heal."

Lovino's now frightened face met Matthew's. "Will… will I recover?"

"You will," Matthew said slowly. "But not unless we get that bullet out. Infection is the last thing your shoulder needs."

"You mean, you have to _dig_ it out?" Lovino squeaked on the word 'dig.'

"Yes," Matthew replied. "I'm sorry Lovino, but it has to come out." Then he turned to examine the rest of the group. "But I'm sort of squeamish when dealing with things like that."

"I will do it." Not surprisingly, it was Ludwig who volunteered. "Gilbert had similar injuries, but with glass, and I managed to get them out perfectly fine."

Gilbert laughed nervously. "Kesese, just don't insult him, and it'll be near painless."

"That bastard is not touching me!" Lovino snapped, defiantly, though he still looked a bit partial to the idea. He just wanted the damn thing out, one way or the other.

"Please, Lovi," Feliciano begged from his place seated in an adjacent chair. "Germany won't hurt you."

"I doubt that," Lovino muttered, then after much deliberation said, "Fine. But do anything funny, and I'll kick you Potato ass, got it?"

Ludwig nodded. "You don't have to worry." Then he added slowly, "But I cannot guarantee it won't hurt a little."

Lovino sighed wearily. "I know," He turned to Matthew who was now offering a cracker and some water to Feliciano. "Take care of him, please. I can't much take care of the idiot in my _condition_." The last word was dripping with spite.

With that, Lovino grudgingly let Ludwig escort him to where he left the first aid kit.

"Christ," Alfred said. "Romano carrying his brother up the ladder to a helicopter amid open fire. The world has officially turned upside down."

"You're telling me," Arthur said. "Since when has Romano let me touch him—let _anyone_ touch him?"

"Looks like I still might have a chance, eh?" Francis nudged Arthur in the shoulder with a leer.

Arthur rolled his eyes, a disgusted look on his face. "Do you _ever _stop being a pervert?"

"Never, mon chéri."

Matthew yawned and stretched. "Well, I guess I won't be getting much sleep now. Come on, Veneziano. Please, eat something."

Feliciano shook his head, keeping his lips sealed shut. "No! Crackers don't taste good!"

Matthew sighed in exasperation. "I'm sorry, Veneziano, but I don't have any pasta or anything else you might like. Besides, your stomach can't handle anymore than this right now."

Feliciano finally relented, realizing his defiance was pointless. With a tentative bite, he chewed the cracker and swallowed it with a grimace. "It's dry," he choked out.

"That's why I have this." Matthew gave him the water bottle and Feliciano took a couple of long pulls from it. "That's enough." Matthew said prying the bottle from Feliciano's hand. "You'll make yourself sick doing that."

"But I'm thirsty." Feliciano pouted.

Matthew shook his head. "You've lasted this long without water, I'm sure you can last a bit longer."

"So," Arthur began, throwing an I-told-you-so look at Francis. "You were wrong."

Francis watched as Ludwig tended to Lovino. They didn't seem to be having much luck getting the bullet out of his shoulder with Lovino squirming away from Ludwig when he even got close to touching him. "Oui, but I have been known to be wrong. At least I'm not ashamed to admit it." He smirked at Arthur.

Arthur scoffed, "I'm not wrong, France. Turkey is dead."

"Don't be so sure, ami."

"Yeah," Alfred interjected, coming over to them after a brief absence, stuffing his face with chips. "He's a tough little shit, I'll give 'im that." His words were barely decipherable between his crunching.

Arthur gave him a disgusted look. "So I see that you've found the vending machines."

"Yup," Alfred said, offering him the bag. "D'ya want some? I busted the glass, so there's plenty more."

"No thank you, Alfred." Arthur grimaced.

"France?"

"I don't think that would suit my figure, amour."

Arthur gave Francis a how-could-you-care-about-that-now look, but Francis flashed him back an I-was-desperate-to-get-out-of-eating-that-crap look.

Alfred shrugged and finished the bag in moments. Then he said, "When do we call off the bets?"

Arthur thought for a second. "Well… as of now we have four hours until the rebels arrive, so we'll call it off then."

"Are you really serious?" Alfred gawked at his watch. "It's already five in the fucking morning?"

"Oh là là, so it is!" Francis said, looking at his own watch. "We should be resting now, oui?"

Arthur nodded. "One of us should keep watch, though."

"Since you brought it up, bro, I vote you." Alfred said. "'Night," And he headed off in the direction of the chairs before Arthur could object.

Arthur looked pleadingly at Francis—which took a lot of strength for him to do—but the Frenchman only shook his head. "I have to get my beauty sleep, cher. Sorry,"

Arthur huffed with annoyance as he watched Francis walk off, letting his eyes roam to examine the older man's arse. Well… that certainly was quite the asset. Arthur caught himself and shook his head with disgust as he turned around, taking out his gun and cocking it, scolding himself. "Damn addled brain, making me a delirious dumbarse…"

He eventually concluded that he would keep watch for an hour, then wake Francis. After all, the other man deserved it for taking advantage of Arthur's scattered mind.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Dat ass. Even England can't resist it. XD


	11. Then There Were Nine

**Shit goes down... that's why this is so long.  
**

Warning: Tension, drug use, weapons, an almost-fight, innuendo.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**And Then There Were Nine**

Arthur was startled awake by approaching footsteps. He blinked his tired eyes, looking at his watch. _6:17… Damn! _He'd been asleep for over fifteen minutes! Now Francis or some other member of the group was coming over to scold or taunt him. _Hell if that happens!_ Arthur moved to turn around from his place sitting crosslegged on the floor, when something cold and metallic was pushed against the back of his head. He recognized the cock of a gun, and his heart began to race. He must have fallen asleep and someone was able to get in! _I'll never be able to live this down… _if _I live after this._

A chuckle sounded from behind him. "You have fallen asleep, hm? How negligent." The voice was deep and jeering.

Arthur didn't respond, afraid that if he said anything, he would be shot instantly.

That seemed the right thing to do. The man laughed again, a rumbling growl that made a chill shoot up Arthur's spine. "You cannot account for your actions, I see? Oh, well, I suppose I will, then." He pushed the gun further into Arthur's head.

Okay, this was crazy. He had to say _something_. "Wait! Who are you? A rebel?"

No response. But the barrel of the gun was still pressed close to his skull.

Arthur wet his lips. "If… if you tell me what you want, I'll give it to you. Anything. Just tell me what you want…"

There was a minute-long silence that seemed to last an hour to Arthur, who was now sweating nervously.

The man behind him finally said, "Tell you what I want, hm? How about you give me…" He paused, seeming to decide what he wanted. "A hand?"

At first, a flash of fear pulsed through Arthur, thinking that the man was requesting his actual hand. But then his logic kicked in and he asked anxiously, "You-you want me to… _help _you?"

"On the contrary, comrade, I want to help _you_. Give me your hand."

Arthur could hear it now, the accent in the man's voice. He should have known. Arthur laughed with relief (which was certainly a first for him when greeting this person) when he grabbed the hand offered to him and was pulled rapidly upward to come face-to-face with no other than Ivan Braginsky.

"Russia, you sneaky bastard," Arthur couldn't keep the laugh out of his voice as he released Ivan's chilled hand.

Ivan smirked. "At your service, comrade. I have traveled far to get here, and I see many others have as well."

_So, Russia's not dead after all? I'll have a hell of time telling Alfred this. _Arthur returned the smirk. "I'm sure America will be delighted to see you again."

Ivan chuckled. "Isn't he always?"

"Yeah, still have your pipe?"

"Always,"

"Good," Arthur said. "Because America's the deafest git I've ever seen. You'll need to wake him up, you know."

A creepy smile consumed Ivan's face. "Good. I'm in need of a stress reliever."

"Just don't get too slap-happy, okay?"

_"What the fucking hell is this?!"_

They turned to see Alfred and the rest of the group staring at them, their guns out and ready. Feliciano was cowering behind Matthew, who had his rifle aimed at Ivan, and Lovino was peeking out from behind the well-armed Ludwig.

Arthur rolled his eyes before answering, "It's Russia, you gits. Put down your weapons."

"Russia?" Alfred's now alert voice echoed throughout the terminal, making them all cringe as their ears were assaulted. "Is this supposed to be some kinda joke, Artie?"

"It is not," Ivan responded, and Arthur laughed aloud when he saw all the color drain from Alfred's face. "I am alive and here, Amerika. It is good to know that you missed me."

"How did you even _get_ here?"

"The same way you all have, I suppose." Ivan replied. "Though I wanted to die by the hands of my own people, I was handcuffed and forced to take a flight here. Rather inconvenient for me, but I am getting used to it."

Alfred scoffed bitterly. "Your commie ass should still be in Russia."

Ivan gave him his signature shut-the-fuck-up-or-I'll-kill-you smile. "I wouldn't be saying that, America. After all, I have nothing to lose." He pulled aside his coat for a moment to partially reveal his hidden pipe.

Alfred's expression changed to that of horror and he took a few steps back. "C-c-cool it, dude. I didn't mean it, heheheheh…"

There was a long stretch of silence before Ivan asked with a warning look, "What? Aren't you all glad to see me?"

Everyone forced smiles and gave weak replies of 'uh huh', 'always nice to see you, man', and 'nothing like waking up to you in the morning'.

Ivan smiled with the replies. "Good. So, bring me up to speed on our status, da?"

Arthur filled in what he could, some of the group adding to the story as he went along. He revealed the suicide of their pilot and the rebels' plan to attack the terminal at 11 the next morning. At the end, Arthur added, "We are all armed in some manner. What do you have to offer?"

The way Ivan's eyes excitedly lit up made Arthur's stomach turn over. Maybe he shouldn't have phrased his question that way…

"You already know I have my pipe," said Ivan, reaching under his coat again—the coat that concealed pipes and pickaxes and all sorts of horrendous things. What more could he possibly have? "But I also have this." He took an assault rifle out of his coat, seeming to show it off. Arthur was alarmed to see that it had been polished like it was a trophy of some sort.

Alfred broke away from the group to walk over to Ivan, though cautiously, to examine the gun. He eventually snorted, "AK-47. As expected,"

"Of course," Ivan smiled again, and Alfred took a few steps away. "You were expecting something else?"

"That thing's not loaded, is it?" Alfred asked somewhat shakily as he scooted closer to Arthur, who stood calmly, watching Alfred with amusement.

Ivan gave him a puzzled look. "Well, if it was not, I couldn't properly use it then, da?"

"What else are you hiding in that coat, Russia?" Arthur asked curiously.

Ivan carefully stowed away his rifle, making Alfred noticeably relax. "That is for me to know and for you to find out." he said with a smile.

"Th-that's not right!" Alfred stuttered, looking pleadingly at Arthur. "Right, Artie? He can't keep information like that from us!"

"He is entitled to his privacy." Arthur said, amusement bubbling up inside of him as Alfred blanched. Even though he himself was scared shitless at the idea of Ivan having more lethal devices hidden on his person, Arthur preferred plaguing Alfred with paranoia, as he was always so easily prone to it, especially with Russia. "He will reveal whatever else he has with him whenever he feels up to it."

Alfred gave him a loathing glare before he retreated to the far corner of the terminal to sulk, his back to them.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Childish git…" Then he turned to Ivan, studying his outfit more closely. "Are you wearing your World War II army uniform?"

Ivan adjusted his officer's cap. "Da, comrade. I wanted to die with honor. Ironic that I will now be wearing it to survive amongst a civil war."

"Let's just hope it doesn't see too many battles." Arthur said.

"On the contrary," Ivan replied. "It is a seasoned veteran."

"R-Russia?" Matthew flinched when Ivan turned his gaze on him, letting out a soft 'eep.' "Are… are you hurt?"

Ivan paused a moment, examining himself as if his whole body was frozen with numbness. "Nyet, comrade. Just a bit hungry and tired."

"America broke a vending machine down that hall." Arthur motioned to his left. "There's food there if you want it. But you know how American food is. I suggest you don't go near the stuff unless you want to die of a heart attack."

Ivan shrugged. "I haven't eaten in a while. Besides, it would take a lot to kill me."

Ivan held Arthur's gaze for a moment too long, and a shiver coursed up Arthur's spine. "It's your choice." His voice wavered as he spoke.

Ivan smiled, as if in satisfaction and said in his creepy, childlike voice, "Be back soon~"

Arthur shivered as he watched the Russian depart. _Thank God I'm not related to him… though then I might stand a better chance of not being killed by him. _

He walked back over to the group where Gilbert seemed particularly riled. He was pacing back and forth anxiously, his usually carefree attitude gone. "Fucking _dammit_! Why the hell does _he _of all people have to show up? It's enough already that we're fucking screwed, now we have a mentally-cracked ex-Soviet with an AK-47 and who else knows what glaring us down…"

"Sit down, bruder," Ludwig sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had stopped trying to wrestle Lovino down to extract the bullet from his shoulder and he was already well beyond frustrated. "You are making this worse."

"Ve~! Russia is here!" Feliciano exclaimed. "Now we'll all be safe, right, Germany?"

"I'm not so sure about that, Veneziano."

"If that borscht-eating bastard tries to come near me or Feli, I'll rip is frozen dick off." Lovino growled through gritted teeth.

"You seem to be talking about castration a lot lately, Lovi~" Francis smirked suggestively, reaching out to twirl a finger around his ahoge. "Have something on your mind, mon chéri?"

Lovino let a gasp and a 'chigi' escape before he could stop himself, pushing Francis roughly away from him. "Keep your perverted hands to yourself, Wine Bastard."

"It's too early in the morning to be arguing, you guys." Matthew cut in softly. "Doncha think?"

And… he was ignored.

"Oh?" Francis leered. "Did I do something _stimulating_?"

Lovino was giving him a death glare. "I'll do something stimulating to your nose if you keep on!" He curled his hand into a fist, showing it to Francis, though he was slightly trembling.

Francis forewent the warning. "I wouldn't mind you doing _anything_ stimulating to me, chéri."

"You know what I mean, dammit!"

"_Do_ I, Lovino?"

"Fucking bastard! I'm surprised you've even survived this long, what with all the diseases you've most likely picked up from your sleeping around!"

Francis looked more than offended. "How dare you accuse me of such negligence! I know when to use protection."

"You'll sure as hell need it now, damn bastard!"

"Are you suggesting something, Lovino?" Francis waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Lovino was red in the face, about to yell back another remark, when Matthew decided that enough was enough and he was too damn tired to care if he was punched in the face. _"GUYS, ENOUGH!"_

Everyone's eyes went to Matthew, wide and surprised. Even Alfred turned to see what the hell was going on that could possibly move Matthew to use his rarely-heard 'scary voice.'

Matthew sighed. "Okay, I think that's enough for tonight. But you guys can continue with your shouting match if you want—I don't give a damn. I just want to get some rest before the rebels start using me for target practice tomorrow morning. But that's just me."

Ludwig stood. "You're right. Rest would serve us well now."

Francis pouted, disappointed that he hadn't gotten to hassle Lovino more, but eventually gave in under Matthew's stern gaze. "D'accord, mon fils. Come, shall we share a few chairs together?" He smirked.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I'm perfectly fine sleeping on my own, Francis."

"Who said that I intended to sleep?" Francis said suggestively.

Matthew felt his ears heat up, but he wouldn't let his brother verbally molest him. He also wouldn't let himself give a fierce remark like Lovino. He knew how to handle his haughty older brother. "I did. And unless you feel like dying tomorrow, I suggest you take my advice."

A smile of satisfaction adorned Matthew's face when he heard Francis give an arrogant snort, and the former turned on his heel, retreating to where he left his makeshift bed across the terminal.

Francis didn't follow. Damn, and he was on a roll too… Trying to make up for his fumble, he smiled and laughed, "Honhonhon, a little spitfire, isn't he?"

Ludwig raised his eyebrows. "Ja, whatever. I am going to get some rest. Italies, come with me."

"Ve~Okay!" Feliciano agreed immediately with a grin.

Lovino, though, looked malicious. "Who made you the boss of me, bastard?"

Ludwig sighed in exasperation. "Fine. You don't have to follow my orders. I was merely offering to help you with your wounds."

Lovino looked dumbfounded for a moment. He hadn't expected sympathy from the Potato Bastard. Oh, well, that still didn't change anything. He was still a wurst-eating dick. "I don't need your pity, dammit. I can take care of myself."

"Not with that bullet lodged in there, you won't." Ludwig said.

Lovino didn't know what to do. Damn, he was backed into a corner! After a moment's pondering, he replied with a sigh, "All right, bastard. But one slip-up, and I'll—!"

"Ja, ja, I know." Ludwig cut in, ignoring the glare he received from Lovino. With that, he turned around and headed for chairs a few rows away from Matthew, who was already dozing, the two brothers following close behind him.

That left Gilbert, Francis, and Arthur standing in the center of the terminal.

"Well," Gilbert began with a shrug and a smirk. "If we're going to die, I might as well die happy."

Francis lifted an eyebrow. "If you want to have sex with me, ami, you should just say it. I know you'd be anything but ashamed and I won't be either."

"Nah," Gilbert waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, making Francis frown. "I'm much too tired for sex. But I have brought some of my _awesome _booze. You want some?"

Francis grimaced a bit, but eventually shrugged. "I'm more of a wine-drinking man, but I guess beer isn't that far off. Anything to get my mind off this hell."

The two retreated to sit beside the arch of Gate 3, Gilbert pulling a flask from his bag and they passed it between them.

Arthur huffed and angrily grumbled to himself. _It looks like I'll be the one on watch again. Selfish gits…_ His eyes wandered over to where Gilbert and Francis sat, drunkenly laughing with each other. Alcohol did sound good at the moment…

"You look troubled, comrade." Ivan's voice startled Arthur. The taller man had finished eating, it seemed. He must have been as hungry as a bear. _We all are… _Arthur thought.

"Damn, don't scare me like that. So, how was the 'meal'?"

Ivan smirked. "It is my specialty. And the food was awful, as you warned. But at least my stomach is well. I can say less for my arteries…"

Arthur laughed. "Yeah, well, that's what you get." A moment of silence stretched between, during which Ivan smiled creepily at Arthur, making him extremely uncomfortable. Sure they had been comrades in the World Wars, but that was when Ivan was in his own country, far away from Britain. Though deeming him and his people as pariahs after the first war and not including them in the peace treaty was probably not the best thing to have done if Arthur wanted no hard feelings between them…

He cleared his throat nervously and his eyes wandered over to Alfred, still sitting with his back to them across the room, slumped over with the bad posture Arthur remembered scolding him about when he was younger. "Stupid git… always over dramatizes everything. So incredibly childish and imperceptive—it's a wonder to think I actually raised him." When Ivan didn't say anything, only stared at him curiously, Arthur sighed and said, "I'd better go check on him. Lord knows what stupor of paranoia he's gotten himself into by now."

Arthur walked casually over to Alfred, stopping a few feet from him when he noticed a swirling coil of smoke rising from where the younger man sat. A moment of panic flashed though him. _The idiot's set himself on fire! … No wait, that can't be right… we'd certainly hear about by now, unless…_

Arthur cautiously approached him, craning his neck to seek out the source of the smoke.

Alfred noticed his shadow and turned around, his eyes puzzled at the sight of his older brother. "Hey, Iggy, whatcha doin'?"

Arthur winced as his beautiful language was chopped into bits by the American's bad grammar. "That's precisely what I was going to ask you. Is that a… cigarette?" Arthur's mind was addled by the scene: Alfred sitting hunched over, a cigarette held lightly between two fingers. Alfred hadn't smoked since the sixties, when he concluded cigarettes were bad for your health and promptly quit cold turkey. Though, Arthur didn't know why he only ruled smoking out as unhealthy, what with all his other addictions and bad habits.

"It's a joint," Alfred said, surprising him further. He offered his own to him. "D'you want one?"

"Uh… well…"

"Haven't you ever smoked weed before, bro?"

"Well, yes," Arthur replied, looking slightly offended. "I've done plenty of drugs in my lifetime." _Is that something I should be bragging about? Oh, who cares!_ He sat beside Alfred, taking his joint and took a long drag, holding in a cough. He had been too busy dealing with the Uprising to smoke like he often did. _Well, it definitely has been a while… _He could taste Alfred on the poorly-rolled paper—strong and beefy. _Ugh. _

"Strange," Arthur mumbled, blowing smoke from his mouth and watching lazily as it crawled upward to the ceiling, his mind going peculiarly light. "With all your anti-smoking campaigns, I thought this would be the last thing I would see you doing. And then you have Mexico and Canada shipping all sorts of drugs into your country, and you always try to be the hero—"

"Shut up," Alfred said coldly, lighting himself another joint. He just wanted the stress to go away. Screw sticking to promises.

"Pardon me?" Arthur tried to keep from growling. _Disrespectful brat!_

"Just… don't." Alfred continued, taking a long pull on the end and blowing the smoke through his teeth. "I don't need to know how much I've fucked up in the past year."

Arthur felt his heart sink.

"And fucked up you have." Ivan's voice made them both jump. He was standing beside them, swigging something that was most likely vodka out of a flask and not looking the least bit drowsy. "I will take one of those." And he snatched the pack from Alfred's hand, taking a joint and lighting it without any source whatsoever, making them both gawk.

Alfred glared at him nonetheless. "Oh, _I'm _the fuck up?" He let out a spiteful laugh. "Look back through a couple chapters in your own history and then tell me who fucked up the most."

Arthur flinched, not knowing whether to get out of the way of what looked to be a fight in the making or stay put and stop it. Though he knew the latter was not likely to end well for him.

But Ivan only smiled his 'fuck you' smile, though Arthur didn't quite know if he should be relieved or not. "I keep warning you to not insult me, Amerika, and yet you still go on as if you mean to provoke me." Ivan puffed his joint, somehow making him look even bigger than he already was.

Alfred snorted, smoke streaming from his nostrils as he did. "I'll 'mean' to do something else pretty soon if you don't drop it. I mean it, Russia. I'm not scared of you."

Ivan frowned, flashing his pipe once again. "Want to bet?"

Alfred took a last pull off his joint and stood, dropping it and quelling the light with the toe of his shoe. "Leave me the fuck alone, commie bastard. I'm not in the mood for your bitching."

"Oh, but I wasn't the one who was bitching in the first place, stubborn swine."

"_What_ did you just call me?"

_Oh, God… _Arthur stood, coming uncomfortably between the two seething men. "Look… gentlemen, this is not the way to settle disputes…"

"Oh, and what is _your _method then, England?" Ivan growled, glaring him down with eyes that were as deadly as knives. "Screwing people over?"(1)

Arthur reddened with anger. "Now, see here, I'm not the only one to blame for that—"

"Shut up, Iggy, you're making it worse." Alfred roughly shoved him aside and Arthur gave an 'oof' as he staggered out of the way.

Everyone was staring at them now. Francis and Gilbert had broken out of their drunken reverie, watching them idly, too drunk to do anything. Ludwig was observing the fight with his hand on the grip of his gun, Feliciano crying hysterically behind him and Lovino watching with distant annoyance.

"Ya know," Alfred said with venom. "You're a real ass. I wish I would have known it long before I agreed to have anything to do with you."

"If I would have known that you're such an incompetent fool, I would have never commissioned Cuba to attack you and just nuked you myself." Ivan rebuked bitterly.

Alfred was positively red with rage now. His hands were balled into trembling fists at his sides. "Was it because you didn't know or because you were such a coward that you didn't attack me yourself, huh?"

In a flash, Ivan was standing chest-to-chest with Alfred. A streak of fright flashed in Alfred's eyes at their sudden closeness and made Ivan smirk. "Your mouth spews poison and your ears are deaf to all but what you want to hear. Your eyes are blind from looking too long at yourself, trying to make yourself better when you can't admit you're weak. Your mind is numb from denying your mistakes. Your heart beats for yourself, for it is to enhance your own pride when you 'help' others. Your desire to be the hero you've wanted to be has sent you on a never-ending path to inflate your own ego. Because of these things, you have ignored the rest of the world." Then with a final sneer, Ivan bent down to his level, almost nose-to-nose with the now furious Alfred and said, "Because of these things, you deny that the destruction being dealt to your country and your people is _your fault_." He hissed the last two words.

Alfred stared maliciously at Ivan for a moment. In that moment, Arthur thought that from Alfred's now waist-high fist, the knuckles white with rage, he was going to be the witness to an all-out fight between the two powers. But Alfred seemed frozen by his anger and also a bit… lost. As if he didn't know what to do.

_He's trying to convince himself it's not true. _Arthur finally gauged, recognizing the torn confusion in his ex-colony's eyes.

And Ivan stood there. Just stood there. A smile on his face. His arms crossed. Relishing the fact that his long-time rival was breaking down before him. He chuckled, as if daring the other man to punch him, to give him an excuse to start a fight. Because if he didn't start it, then that would be more proof that his statements were all true.

Alfred took a step back, then another, until he was no longer so close to Ivan. Arthur felt helpless. What would he do to stop them? He couldn't just shoot them!

_Come on, Germany, you know how to deal with this shit…_ He tossed a desperate glance at Ludwig, but the man seemed just as hesitant as Arthur felt. _So, even Germany is scared of him._

Well, that was just peachy.

Alfred stood there for a long while, a heated debate going on inside of him. Was it true? No, it couldn't be… he was good, he knew it… isn't that what he lived for? Had he gone too far? No… the hero could never go too far, never… but, then again, the hero also wouldn't let his city—his _country_, no less—fall into such a state.

Not knowing what to do, Alfred raised his fist and, at the last minute, turned and punched the wall beside him with a frustrated grunt. When he withdrew his fist, there was a large hole in the plaster that surely would have knocked someone out cold if it had hit its intended target.

Arthur was speechless as Alfred turned on his heel and stomped off, muttering angrily under his breath as he turned a corner that led to a souvenir shop and was gone.

Ivan _tsked_ and shook his head. "Still weak, I see."

Arthur was aghast and bit disgusted. "Russia that was… wrong." He had to admit that it was a bit too over the top, despite the fact that Alfred was always so increasingly haughty and annoying.

Ivan gave him a dangerous look disguised behind childish violet eyes. "What? I just told him what he needed to know. If he takes what I said into consideration, it will do him a lot of good."

Arthur was about to say something else, but figured that no matter what he said, he couldn't change Ivan's mind and he would just get pounded anyway if he tried. So, instead, he followed Alfred's trail into the small shop, seeking him out. He eventually found him, smashing snow globes and other collectibles in uncontained rage.

"America!" Arthur shouted at him, but Alfred just continued smashing his way through the shop. "America, please, stop this! You'll hurt yourself!" Arthur ducked to avoid an ornament flying at his head. _"Alfred!"_

Alfred immediately stopped, dropping the souvenir and turning around to face him. His face was red and blotchy and his eyes were bloodshot—it looked like he'd been crying or rather struggling not to. Arthur rolled his eyes and approached him, albeit cautiously, and drew him into an embrace. Alfred gave a soft, hiccupping sob as he buried his face in his brother's shoulder. "Childish git," Arthur muttered and patted him on the back. "Why is it always me who ends up tending to you?"

"It's not true," Alfred murmured after he'd calmed himself a bit. "It's not true—is it, Artie? I mean, I know I've done a lot of shitty things in my life, but—" He swallowed dryly at this. "But I've always made up for it in the end, right? I-I don't know what to think anymore, bro… being a hero is all I have."

Arthur felt sympathy well up in his chest. He knew it had taken a lot for Alfred to admit to that. "You're what you make yourself to be, Alfred. Haven't I always told you that?"

"I kinda thought you took that back after the Revolution began."

Arthur frowned. "But I _did _tell you that, didn't I?"

"Yeah…"

"Then be who you _want _to be, not what you think you _have _to be. If you don't like what you've become, you can always change."

"So… have I done anything wrong?"

Arthur chuckled somberly. "Well, I think we all have something to account for regarding that. But everyone makes mistakes sometimes, Alfred. No one expects you to be perfect but you."

"But I _want_ to be perfect."

"No," Arthur corrected. "You want to be perfect because you think you have to be."

"But if I'm not the hero," Alfred said slowly, and a bit chokingly. "Then who am I?"

Arthur pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "Whoever you want to be, Alfred. Not whoever _America _has to be, but what you, _Alfred_, want to be. You fought for this, didn't you? This choice?" _Good Lord, I'm turning into a useless sap… _

Alfred seemed to brighten. "Oh, yeah, right…"

Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Whatever, just… try not to talk about this too much. I have my own reputation to keep up, you know. And I don't want to come across as a weak link."

"Okay," Alfred said, smiling weakly. "And Artie?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Thanks, bro."

"Don't mention it—really."

There was a ruckus outside, and both brothers turned to see Lovino loping around the corner. When he caught sight of them standing close together, Alfred still trying to compose himself, the Italian grimaced. "Pardon me, _lovebirds_, but the Potato Bastard wanted me to inform you that someone is here to join us."

"Really, now?" Arthur blinked. "Who the hell could it be? Let me see… if it takes 9 hours to get from Italy to New York, then what country takes 10 hours other than Russia…?"

Lovino gave an impatient grunt. "I don't know, dammit! Just come out here!"

Arthur frowned, not looking forward to working with Lovino at all. _If I'm lucky, Lovino will be put into his place just like Alfred and stop harassing the crap out of everyone._

Alfred took the lead, and he was grateful; there would be nothing to allude to the fact that they had just shared a rather… _private_ moment in the shop, most of which was pretty much demolished. _Well, it's not like it matters now._

They rounded the corner, following Lovino as they walked to the center of the terminal where the rest of the group was gathered, even Matthew and the drunken Gilbert and Francis. Alfred and Arthur pushed their way through the crowd until they were staring, dumbfounded, at their next guest. Mostly, it was Arthur who was in shock.

There he was, proud in his hoodie and mask, the haughty and painfully irksome Turkey.

* * *

No translations

References:

1-Alludes to England's promises to India and various countries in Northern Africa and the Middle East who contributed troops to WWII on the promise that they would receive their self-governance in return. This promise was not followed through with and was one of the reasons for India's revolution and parting from the British Empire.

A Word From the Writer: Turkey! Wait a sec... he didn't have a chapter on his escape! I know. I decided to add him to make the group add up to an even number. You'll see why in later chapters.

And mean Russia is mean. But at least America got the kick in the ass he needed, huh?

Until next time~!


	12. Then There Were Ten

**It's the final countdown... XD  
**

Warning: Angst, an almost-fight, tension (whether or not it is sexual is up to you), derogatory comments from America to Russia and likewise, innuendo from, you guessed it, France.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Then There Were Ten **

"Well," Naturally, Alfred was the first to speak. "You _are _a persistent son of a bitch." He smiled.

"T-Turkey?" Arthur was absolutely gobsmacked. How the hell did someone so arrogant manage to survive? "How in the world did you…?"

Sadiq snorted, dropping his pack and rolling his eyes. "How do you think, British prick? I couldn't have _swum _over here. And it's not like I wanted to…" His eyes wandered to Alfred when he said the last sentence. Ever since they had met, Alfred's and Sadiq's equally arrogant dispositions tended to constantly clash.

Arthur frowned, folding his arms. "If you want to act like an impertinent arse, you don't have to stay here, you know."

Lovino rolled his eyes, though he still looked pretty nervous in the Turkish man's proximity. "Isn't he always?"

Sadiq smirked and patted the pommel of his kilij. "Ah, but I believe you want something that I have, no?"

Arthur scowled, but had the mind not to shout at the idiot. He resigned himself to muttering angrily under his breath, "Disrespectful git…"

Sadiq then switched his gaze to Alfred. "I am persistent, Romano. You of all people should know that."

Lovino snorted, but remained silent, swallowing his unease.

Alfred scoffed, "Dude, you're so full of yourself."

"And _you're _not?" Ivan cut in.

Alfred gave him an eat-shit glare. "Go fuck yourself, Russia. I'm through with you."

Francis then rushed forward out of nowhere, surprisingly balanced for being so drunk. He boldly latched onto Ivan's arm—something he would not have dared to do if he was sober. A leer parted his lips. "Ohonhonhonhon~but you don't have to do it by yourself, amour. I can help you, hic, if you wanted—"

Ivan gave Francis a disgusted look and shoved him roughly off of him. "Unhand me, бесполезны шлюха." Francis stumbled until he was caught unknowingly by Arthur, who rolled his eyes when Francis waggled his eyebrows at him. Ivan then directed his attention to Alfred. "You had better choose your words wisely, Amerika, lest I decide to do something about it."

Alfred growled, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Go right ahead, pal! I can take whatever you give me, as was proven multiple times in the past… and stop using your stupid commie accent when you say my name!"

"Only if you speak proper Russian when talking to me."

"What?! You're fuckin' crazy. I would _never _stoop so low as to learn your commie lang—"

_"GENTLEMEN!" _They all stared at Arthur, and the man uncomfortably cleared his throat and adjusted his collar that had been mussed by Franis leaning on him. "We are all civilized human beings, no? This is _not _how arguments should be settled."

Alfred scoffed. "Tell that to the guy whose whole army raped and killed millions of civilians."

Ivan was absolutely fuming. "You _dare _insult me when you have done more terrible things? It's a shame, really, that you haven't the capacity to realize how badly this could end for you."

Alfred took a couple steps toward him and looked him straight in the eyes. "Bring it, bitch."

"What sort of alliance is this?" Arthur broke in again. "Look at us… only a few hours we've been together, and we're already going for each other's throats!"

"Not necessarily." Ivan said, not taking his eyes off his opponent who stood stiffly in front of him. "I was also planning to go for someplace else also."

It took a moment for Alfred to process what he was saying. Then he snarled, "Oh, that's just low enough for you to even consider!"

Sadiq blinked in interest as the two men growled at each other, fists clenched at their sides. "Wow, if I knew it was this much of a mess here, I would never have come."

Arthur shook his head, staring at him sternly. "This is not the best time to be throwing offensive comments around, Turkey."

Sadiq shrugged. "I can easily solve this problem." He whipped out his kilij and thrust it between the two quarreling men. "What sort of greeting is this? I get off my plane and immediately after have two men ready to exchange blows in front of me? Wasn't that what I was trying to escape from in the first place?"

Alfred and Ivan glared at him, but Sadiq arrogantly held his position, eyeing them also. Ivan eventually broke his gaze to stare at Alfred in disgust. "It does not have to be limited to blows. I could use my pipe as well."

Alfred snarled, "You'll never be able to hit me."

Ivan smirked. "Oh, da? What did you call that time during our little 'competition', hm? Did you not come over to my house to brag about me losing the Baltics and I nearly knocked you out cold?"

Alfred scoffed, "That was only because my gun jammed."

"And whose fault was that?" Ivan sneered.

"You distracted me!"

"So you are admitting you can't focus most of the time?"

"No!" Alfred continued, furious. "And I would have knocked your lights out if you hadn't pinned me up against the wall and—" Alfred's words seem to catch in his throat and he made a choking sound, eyes darting down to the floor, his face red. Ivan stared at him, looking strangely smug.

"Al," Matthew pushed his way toward his twin and threw an arm around him. "Why do you always do this to yourself? You always feel it's your obligation to instigate every fight within a group of people."

"Oh," Alfred grunted, eyes still staring downward. "So you blame me too?"

Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes. "Al, you know I don't. Please don't make me have to fight you to calm you down. It's damn annoying."

Alfred released a long breath and straightened, knowing his brother would not appreciate an argument when he was so tired. After all, Alfred had been the one who had woken him up from his naps now… twice. He gave him a rueful smile and mussed Matthew's hair—something Alfred knew he absolutely loathed, but he still did it anyway.

"Sure, bro. You're right. Maybe we all just need to rest."

Arthur stared open-mouthed at him. Since when had Alfred stopped in the middle of a fight for _any _reason (a bit insulting to Arthur seeing as he tried to stop it earlier and shy, quiet Matthew ended up doing it)? But he wasn't going to let this opportunity escape him. "Right. To the chairs, the lot of you. Come on, get moving!"

There was little protest, though Arthur was sure everyone would have had something to say about his taking control if they hadn't been so exhausted. On his way to a chair spaced a safe distance from Francis and Ivan, he caught Alfred and the taller Russian exchange vicious glares.

Arthur sighed and sat in his chair, slumping with fatigue. "The end of the world comes and they _still _don't stop fighting…"

Ludwig settled in his chair, Feliciano snuggling close beside him, which made him more than a little uncomfortable, especially since he was receiving death glares from Lovino who sat adjacent to his brother. Francis and Gilbert seemed to have stopped their little drinking party to welcome the temptation of sleep. The alcohol had muddled their depth perception, and as so, they had no choice but to sleep on the floor, propped up against the wall, slumping into each other. Sadiq found a place on the floor in a corner across the room, leaning his back against the wall and allowing is eyes to slip closed, only to be woken by every snore or shift he heard. Matthew managed to settle Alfred down with a few quiet words and convinced him to sleep with his back to everyone else, pulling two chairs together to form a makeshift bed. Matthew then watched his brother to make sure he wouldn't wander off while they were sleeping to try to murder Ivan and eventually settled into his own chair, falling asleep with his hand propping up his head. Ivan, meanwhile, sat brooding for a good ten minutes—a time in which Arthur didn't dare close his eyes—his purple aura disappearing and his constant string of '_kolkolkol_'s finally subsiding, the man becoming absolutely still, his back straight, his hands rested in his lap. If not for the loud snore that resonated from the Russian, Arthur would not have known he had fallen asleep.

He shivered. _Creepy…_ Arthur wondered how someone could possibly fall asleep sitting perfectly upright as if they were awake, but when he considered the fact that Ivan had Natalya constantly harassing him, he supposed Ivan just slept that way out of habit. _More like necessity. _He thought, drifting off to sleep himself, not caring if there was no one to keep watch. Surely Ivan or Sadiq would hear someone coming. As for him, he was too damn tired.

* * *

Translations:

бесполезны шлюха-worthless whore

A Word From the Writer: Pride is a cock-blocking little bitch. Then again, so is Turkey. Why you interrupt them Turkey? They could have _done something (sexual)_!

Nah, Turkey's cool. Everyone needed a break from the tension anyway.

*CoughbutyouoweussomeRusAmelater...cough*

Onward~!


	13. Then There Were Twelve

**The last two arrive. And yes, I mean it. THE LAST TWO.  
**

Warning: Angst, another almost-fight, tension, innuendo, and excessive swearing courtesy of Romano.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Then There Were Twelve**

Alfred opened one eye, looking around before he concluded everyone was asleep before swinging his legs over the armrests of the interlocked chairs and standing. He yawned and stretched, his hands extended over his head. It was then that he noticed Matthew, asleep in the chair beside him. He sighed, whispering, "Really, bro? You didn't trust me enough to know that I wouldn't wander off to totally murder Russia?" Her smirked at the idea. He had only been getting up to take a piss, but, hey, what was better than getting that bastard back? "Guess you were right, Mattie."

Slowly, and with great caution, Alfred tiptoed toward Ivan from behind. The closer he got to the other man, the slower he went, taking steps so lightly, Alfred was sure that even an elephant couldn't hear him… which was _exactly _what Ivan was. He chuckled at his own jibe, finally stopping at the back of the chair, stiffening. Wait a goddamn second, was Ivan awake? No, he couldn't be. The man was snoring. But how the hell did he manage to remain upright? That was so freaky, man!

Alfred extended his hands, planning to wrap them around Ivan's neck. He wasn't going to choke him to death. Surely Ivan would wake up by then and throw him off, but still, it was a good way for Alfred to get back at him.

Just before his hands brushed Ivan's scarf—which was annoyingly wrapped around his neck, damn!—a cold hand shot up and wrapped around his wrist, large fingers tightening until Alfred gasped with the pain. Ivan remained stoic, though. "That would not be a wise decision, Amerika." Ivan muttered as venomously as if he had been awake the whole time.

Alfred fought the urge to shout in alarm. He tried to wrench his arm free, but Ivan's hand seemed to clamp even tighter. He squeaked—but it was a very _manly _squeak!—as Ivan pulled his hand down, forcing Alfred's chin to rest on his shoulder. "You are asking for trouble~"

"More like demanding," Alfred replied. "When have you known me to _ask_ for anything from you?"

Ivan rolled his eyes, turning his head so that he faced Alfred. He shivered when the Russian's cold lips brushed against his ear. "I know you better than that, Amerika. You want me to attack you, nyet? To do what I did that time you made the mistake of coming to my house to brag? But you would like that, now, wouldn't you?"

It took a moment for Alfred to respond. "Bet you would a get a hell of a kick out of it, too."

Ivan's chuckle made a chill shoot up Alfred's spine. "You'd better hope I do."

For a few tense moments, they stay like that, Alfred leaning over Ivan, Ivan's hand still clamped around his wrist. "Uh… dude," Alfred began quiet uncomfortably. "You're kinda cutting off the circulation to my hand."

"Da?"

"And this is sorta… awkward."

"It is only awkward if you make it awkward, Amerika."

Alfred scoffed Ivan finally released his hand. He rubbed his wrist, which had a noticeable, purpling bruise.

"Now," Ivan began, changing the subject. "I believe I hear a helicopter landing outside."

"What?" Alfred raised his eyebrows skeptically. "I don't hear anything."

Ivan sighed. "You really are deaf."

Alfred scoffed and walked over to the window, peering out in shock. "W-what the hell?" Sure enough, a helicopter had just landed on the runway. "How the fuck do you _do _that?"

Ivan shrugged. "Is easy. I listen well."

Alfred snorted. "Whatever. Freaky motherfuc—"

"I'd shut up if I were you." Ivan warned with a smile. "And check to see who it is that has arrived."

Alfred didn't want to admit defeat, but the two people approaching the stairs to the gate outside demanded his attention more… really, it did. "Uh… I can't really tell, but there are two of them and they look to be unarmed."

Ivan raised his eyebrows. "Strange. Do they look familiar?"

"Um… I-I can't really tell, man."

"Aren't you the one with the glasses?"

"They're not friggin' binoculars!"

Ivan rolled his eyes and rose from his chair, smiling when Alfred gave a nervous twitch. "Relax, comrade. I'm just taking a look myself."

Alfred stepped back to let Ivan look through the window. "Psh, I'm more than relaxed. And I'm not your 'comrade'."

"Very well, you're not." Ivan replied. "But it would be wise to be one." Before Alfred could comment, Ivan blinked in surprise. "It's Japan and Yao-Yao."

Alfred's jaw dropped. "W-w-what the hell?! How the _fuck _can you see that?"

"I have good sight." _I can see Alaska from my house~_

Alfred shifted uncomfortably beside him. "_Yao-Yao_?"

Ivan shrugged. "I use it out of habit. And… is cute." Then with a short glance behind him, he ordered, "Wake the others. We haven't much time."

Alfred didn't like the demanding tone in Ivan's voice, but he would rather take the excuse to be away from him. He walked over to the closest person, Arthur, and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"Bro, hey… it's time to wake up."

"Mmf, w-what is it?" Arthur glanced sleepily up at him before settling back in his original position, batting his little brother's hand away. "'S too early. Leave me alone."

"Trust me, dude, I would have slept all day if I could. But… Russia's orders."

Immediately, he unraveled himself from the chair and stood, straightening out his collar and jacket. He looked at Alfred with clear, alert eyes, which sort of disturbed him. "Well, mustn't keep the chap waiting now, eh?" Arthur gave a nervous laugh before eyeing him seriously. "What did you do to him before you woke me? Are you missing your left bollock or something of the sort?"

Alfred wrinkled his nose. "No, man! I didn't do anything to him." Then after a momentary pause, he asked, "And why is it the left ball that's always getting picked on? I mean, both of my balls are important to me. Though if I had to choose which one I'd rather lose, I wouldn't care. But then again, if my right ball was bigger than my left ball, well—"

Arthur blinked at him as if he were crazy and flicked his ear. Alfred recoiled, cradling his ear with one hand. "Ow! What the fuck, Artie? What was that for?"

"For being an insufferable moron. Now, come on, back to our current situation. What is Ivan goggling at?"

Alfred stopped holding his ear to rub it gingerly. "Ah, well, I couldn't really see, but Russia said it was China and Japan."

Arthur's large eyebrows rose. "Huh, is that so? Well, how curious. I never thought they would make it in time, being halfway round the world."

Alfred sympathized. "Yeah, musta been a long flight."

"Say, what time is it, Alfred?"

"I'm not the one with the watch."

"Oh, I forgot, you're never on time for anything." Before Alfred could retort, Arthur rolled up his sleeve and exclaimed, "Sweet Mother of Christ! It's 9:32! We have less than a half-hour to ready ourselves to meet the rebels!"

"Oh, shit! Really?"

"You git! Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"I don't have a watch, remember?"

"Gah!"

"Would you two stop acting melodramatic?" Ivan turned away from the window to give them a stern look. "We have to bring Japan and Yao-Yao up to speed now, da? Wake the others."

Alfred found himself nodding against his will. No need to over-dramatize this situation more than it already was by starting something with Ivan… again. As much as he wanted to break the man's nose…

Arthur, meanwhile, gave him a curious look. "Yao-Yao?"

"Don't ask me."

Alfred went to wake Matthew first, ruffling his hair and immediately startling him into annoyed wakefulness. After telling him about China and Japan's arrival, Matthew bit back his remark and helped Alfred wake the others, telling them the same thing when they woke.

"Ve~" Feliciano was immediately awake, still too weak to stand, but smiling leastwise. "Japan and China are here! I missed them so much!"

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "You barely saw China before, Veneziano."

"Don't backsass my brother, Nazi boob!"

"Don't insult _my _brother, totally unawesome tomato-eater!"

"You suck ass at insulting people, dumb bastard."

"I can't hear you over my awesomeness~!"

"Shut it, gits!" Arthur yelled over the melee. "And get your arses over here. We don't have much time!"

Sadiq scoffed. "Incompetent fools, acting like children at a time like this."

"Oh, please," Alfred snorted. "Don't tell me you wouldn't be the same way if Greece were here."

"N-no!" Sadiq said, slightly offended. "We settle our differences verbally…"

"Yeah, using insults and jibes."

"Al… please don't start this again."

"Shut up, Mattie. I'm in the middle of something."

"And _you _have never used insults during fights? You can't deny that fight I saw between you and Russia a few hours ago. You're just as bad as me." Sadiq pulled Alfred back into the conversation.

Alfred's eyes flashed. "Oh, so you're admitting you have a problem, douchebag?"

"_What _did you just call me, bitch?"

Francis loped in, obviously a little sore from the alcohol he drank a few hours ago and throwing his arms around the both of them. "We can all be friends, non? Like I always say, make love not war!"

"Stop molesting people, Frog."

"Nonsense, I was only giving innocent advice. Have something dirty on your mind, mon Angleterre?"

"Shut your fucking mouth, git."

"Oh, but if I do, I won't be able to use it properly~"

"France!" Ludwig shouted. "There are certain _innocents_ listening!"

"Ve~I want to be an innocent! Am I? Am I, Germany?"

"You'd better not be talking about me, Potato Bastard."

Gilbert scoffed. "Ja, because you've gotten laid so many times before with your charming personality. You could never match up to _my _awesomeness!"

"I've gotten laid plenty of times, you fucking dumbass!"

"Care to elaborate for us, mon chéri?"

_"Settle yourselves, comrades." _It wasn't a shout, but it was scary enough for them all to shut up there and then. Ivan stared them all down with a feigned smile and eyes that smoldered with pent-up threats. "Japan and Yao-Yao are coming. Try to at least look like civilized human beings."

"Well, _most_ of us are." Alfred muttered, and when Ivan glared at him, he faked a loud cough, making Arthur grimace next to him.

There was a long stretch of silence, during which they all kept their eyes pinned on the gate they could hear a pair of footsteps approaching quickly. Then, two figures burst from the arch, both shouting and taking up defensive stances. Kiku unsheathed his katana, both hands on the hilt, his expression blank, but his eyes fierce. Yao held his wok with both hands over his right shoulder, his eyes narrowed, a snarl on his lips.

After a quick observation, Kiku lowered his sword, blinking in surprise. "Russia-san? America-san?"

"What hell is this?" Yao growled, shaking his wok at them, despite its weight. "How come you not call us, hm?"

"We couldn't possibly contact you with the world going to hell and all." Arthur replied flatly. "Nice to know you are glad to see us, China."

"I'm glad to see you, Yao-Yao." Russia smiled creepily. "You are glad to see me too, da?"

Yao shrunk away a little, now holding his wok in two hands again. "Sh-shì, Russia. It is always nice to see you…"

"Dude, Kiku!" Alfred rushed forward and gave the other man a hug. Kiku's eyes widened and his claustrophobia kicked in, prying Alfred anxiously off of him. But Alfred didn't mind. He knew it was just part of who Kiku was… no matter how painfully annoying it was in the bedroom. "I thought I'd never see you again, man! How're ya doing?"

"Uh, well…" Kiku didn't quite know what Alfred was asking. Was it possible that the other man had not read the atmosphere again? Surely not through this gigantic crisis. "I'm not particularly happy, if that's what you—"

"We had hell of time getting here, you know." Yao ranted, despite the fact that Ivan was way too close for comfort. "How in world did you guys get here anyway?"

"Same way as you." Alfred replied.

"Japaaaan~!" Feliciano launched himself at the other man, but Kiku quickly side-stepped him to avoid getting glomped. Feliciano stumbled a bit before smiling. "Japan, I missed you soooo much! I'm so glad to see you again!" He was about to say something more, when he suddenly sagged forward with a dry cough, exhaustion and weakness overwhelming him.

Lovino immediately caught his brother with his good arm, despite the massive effort it took for him to do so. "Don't get yourself so excited, damn idiot. You need to go sit down somewhere."

"Ve… but I want to talk to Japan some more…" Feliciano whined feebly.

Lovino gritted his teeth as his little brother wriggled in his hold, forcing him to contort his body and disrupt his injured arm. "Dammit, Feli! Keep still!"

"I will take him." Ludwig offered, but Lovino rounded on him, snapping, "Get your fucking, wurst-ridden hands away from me, bastard!"

"Don't be unawesome." Gilbert said, nodding to his brother so that Ludwig took Feliciano from Lovino while Gilbert took hold of Lovino. The older Italian was furious, thrashing about, his anger overriding his pain. "Dumb bastard! Let go of me, dammit!"

"Stop struggling, uh?" Gilbert said, securing Lovino's arms to the angry Italian's chest by wrapping his arms around him. "The incredibly awesome me will take care of you, kesesese!"

Lovino blushed at his close proximity and thrashed harder. "_Dammit_! I will kick you in your goddamn potatoes if you don't fucking _get off me_!"

Gilbert leered. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

The Prussian _oofed _as he was promptly elbowed in the abdomen, forcing him to release Lovino. Immediately the younger man staggered, crying out in pain, clutching his wounded shoulder as fresh blood oozed out from the reopened gash. _"Fucking goddamn, motherfucking son of a bitch!"_

"Please don't curse, big brother!" Feliciano sniffed, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Ludwig was at a loss of what to do, so he merely patted the younger Italian's head awkwardly.

Gilbert was still trying to catch his breath. "… damn little bitch. I was only trying to awesomely help you, dammit, you didn't have to jab me in the stomach."

"I couldn't give a flying fuck what you're feeling now!" Lovino growled through his teeth, balancing himself on a nearby wall. "Dammit, why did I have to haul Feliciano's fat ass up that ladder anyway? Fuck!"

"We'll get you some help soon, Romano." Arthur interjected, and Lovino gave him a seething look. "I'm sorry, lad, but our strategy requires more attention at the moment. I promise, we'll fix you up soon." Then he turned to Ivan before Lovino could say anything. "What do you suppose we should do?"

He didn't know why in the world he was asking Ivan of all people an important thing like this, but it was better than asking Kiku… he would probably just suggest they strap grenades to their backs and go in for the attack. And although it seemed very noble, it would go against their survival if they went kamikaze.

Ivan seemed a little too pleased for Arthur's liking that he was seeking advice from him. Since when had Arthur asked advice from anyone when planning for battle? "I suggest we gather our weapons and wait for their arrival. Then, before they can gather, we make our escape."

"To where, exactly?" Alfred asked venomously.

Ivan's smile spread wider, making everyone take a step back. "To whatever safe house is nearby."

"That doesn't leave us very many options, then." Alfred replied stiffly, taking out his handgun and clicking the safety off. "But I'll shoot down anyone who tries to kill us."

"That's reassuring," Arthur deadpanned.

"Hey!" Alfred rounded on him, pointing his gun at him, making Arthur flinch. "I'm a perfectly good shot! Remember, not a hundred years ago, I—"

"Don't aim the bloody thing at me, git!"

"I say we do a headcount." Ludwig suggested. "We need to know all we can about what's happened, so anyone who knows or has seen a country dead needs to fess up now."

The atmosphere became incredibly tense, but Alfred, once again, was completely oblivious to it. He instantly stepped into the center of the circle they formed and put away his gun… thankfully. "Alrighty, then. Russia, why don't you start?"

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: America is to asshole as asshole is to Russia. Really, they both are and they feed off of each other. There can only be one major asshole of the world, you decide!

*For the last line was tempted to write "China, I choose you!" but then realized it was a horrible cliché... not so horrible that it didn't deserve a mention, though* :D


	14. Death Count

**Find out who's alive and who's not-so-alive. Oh, and why Romano had been missing from the country when the Uprising happened. A drama-llama chapter, get ready, hurr  
**

Warning: Angst, several character deaths, drama, mention of rape and death by fire.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Death Count**

Alfred was looking at Ivan with a devious smirk on his face. Oh, he wanted to hear what Ivan had to say. That's why he put him on the spot. He wasn't cruel or anything, are you kidding… he was the hero!

But the bastard deserved it.

Ivan stared at him evenly before he began. "Da, I will begin." He made sure to keep his face blank as he continued, not wanting Alfred to get the reaction he wanted. "The Baltics had to go back to their own countries after visiting me purely for political reasons to settle the various issues rising there and so did my two sisters, so I was alone and rightly had my own problems to attend to. However, I could not contact any of them for months. Naturally, I was quite worried. I didn't want the Baltics or anyone else to think they were entirely out of my grasp, despite the discontinuance of the USSR." He smirked at Alfred while he said this, then went on, "Eventually I went looking for them. As you can imagine, I wasn't in the mood to look for Natalya at first—she gets angry when she's under stress. I made a short trip north and found out that the Baltics had been trying to help each other, but in the process had been found out by the rebels. They were then captured, being betrayed by a close government official, and were tortured before being beaten to death in succession and burned.

"After finding out what fate befell the Baltics, I hurried to find my sisters, and I found Katyusha first." His voice threatened to break at this point, but he was determined to remain stoic, so his hands, out of habit, went to finger the hem of his scarf to draw his attention off of the unnerving feeling of grief. "She… she had been raped and strangled, left out in the woods for the animals to feast upon. As for Natalya, I found her in a warehouse close to her home. The rebels must have been holding her hostage, though I don't have any idea how. They slit her throat like a pig. Blood was everywhere. It was clear she'd put up a hell of a fight before she died."

There was a long stretch of silence for a while, some expressing sympathy for the Russian, others not quite knowing what to do. The latter feeling encompassed Alfred at the moment, and he stared ashamedly at the floor. _Was I really intent on getting a rise out of Russia by basically asking him to describe how those close to him died? _The feeling made him sick to his stomach… but he quickly reminded himself that this was the same man who had threatened to blow Alfred up a few decades ago and he sucked it up.

Ivan was now wringing his scarf so hard that he felt a couple of seams snap, and immediately let it hang loose around his neck again. He wasn't about to ruin the only thing he had left from Katyusha. "England, do you have anything to add?"

Arthur blinked in surprise at his sudden slip into the spotlight. At once he felt what seemed like thousands of eyes intently watching him. His arm itched anxiously. "Uh… I lost communications with the Nordics, but I didn't really hear from them. Only that Sweden and Finland had died together, as was expected." He winced inwardly. _That sounded a bit cold. Why do I sound like I'm presenting a report? _He loosened himself up and continued, "Sealand is gone. I don't know what happened to him, but somehow the Uprising reached him, poor lad. Possibly trying to help Sweden and Finland, but…" He trailed off.

A moment passed before Alfred asked hesitantly, "And… what about your family? Did they live?"

Arthur's heart immediately began to pound and a familiar stabbing pressure formed in his chest. He hadn't wanted to admit that he'd failed in saving them. _Alfred, you git. _"They… Wales went first. The Ireland's were second. I don't want to go into detail about their deaths, but it was rather… inhumane. Scotland was the only one with me when we tried to—" His throat became scratchy at this point, and his eyes clouded with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn't let his bastard of an older brother see him cry over him. His bastard brother who he loved so very much and hadn't had a chance to tell him that. "We tried to board the helicopter here, but the rebels caught us by surprise. They… they shot him before we could escape. Christ, there was so much blood… and we were so close. I almost saved him, but I couldn't…" His voice trailed off, unable to form words. He still had not cried, though, and his pride was still intact… most of it.

"I'm sorry, Artie."

"Shut up, Alfred." Arthur snapped, feeling guilty afterwards. He was afraid that if anyone tried to comfort him now, he would break down completely. To his utter relief, though, Alfred seemed to read the atmosphere… for once in his life.

Ivan directed his gaze to Francis. "France, what do you know?"

Francis hesitated, having to pry his worried eyes away from Arthur and process his thoughts. "Euh… The only ones I managed to keep in contact with were Monaco and Luxembourg. Then the communications went down, but we still could contact each other using telegraphs. When I didn't hear from them, though, I went to investigate. Monaco had been… assaulted and killed, left in the street for anyone to mutilate her precious body. As for Luxembourg… I came too late. They were b-burning him at the stake when I arrived. He was nothing but ashes when they were through." He hung his head afterward, wiping tears from his face.

Ivan's face was blank, but he felt a twinge of empathy for the other man—despite him being a pervert. "America, have you heard from your states?"

Alfred blinked in surprise at the sudden question and scrunched his nose up in thought. "Nope, can't say I have. The last one I talked to was Virginia, and that was when she arranged a flight for me here a couple days ago bound for Guam. As for everyone else… I can't seem to locate any of them. Not even New York."

Arthur flinched at the mention of Virginia, his former commonwealth. He had always wondered what she looked like now. He hadn't seen her for centuries. He sincerely hoped she was okay.

"Yao-Yao?"

Yao winced at his nickname before saying sadly, "Vietnam, Taiwan, South Korea, Thailand and Hong Kong are all dead. Hong Kong was shot when we were swimming to the shores of Japan. It was too late, and I couldn't… there was nothing I could do…"

"South Korea died while bravely defending me." Kiku cut in, drawing attention away from the currently choked-up Yao. "We will miss them all."

"Turkey?"

Sadiq tried to come off as nonchalant, but failed miserably. "The Balkans are gone—completely wiped out. The last one I had communications with was Greece. He was begging me for help, but then the line was cut." His gaze fell to the floor. "I wish I had the chance to." he muttered under his breath.

"Germany?"

Gilbert folded his arms and muttered, "Why does West get all the attention and I don't?"

Ludwig ignored him and said with professionalism, "Austria and Hungary paired together to help each other, but they were overwhelmed. The last I heard, they were being held captive and tortured, though I'm sure they're dead by now. Holland and Belgium have fallen also. And Veneziano told me that Switzerland and Liechtenstein were trapped. They have more than likely perished." Feliciano burst into tears in Ludwig's arms, clinging to him and crying into his shirt. Ludwig sighed in exasperation.

"Romano?"

Lovino looked up at Ivan in surprise, shocked that he had been called upon. Then again, he wasn't nearly as innocent and naïve as his younger brother. He braced himself against the wall before saying, "I haven't heard from Spain since a few months ago."

All of them remained quiet, expecting Lovino to continue, but he did not. Ivan raised skeptical silver eyebrows. "I believe you are keeping something from us, comrade."

Lovino's face turned red with rage. "How dare you accuse me of false accounts?! How come you didn't question the others' stories, uh? Why me?"

"Because during the Cold War, I was an interrogator, and I know when someone is lying."

Lovino looked incredulously at him.

Ivan turned to Alfred. "What do you think, Amerika? You've had enough practice to know when someone is not telling the truth. Is he?"

It took a moment for Alfred to get over his initial surprise that Ivan had called upon him for anything that didn't involve jibes or insults. "Yeah… he's not telling us everything."

They all stared at Lovino then… a million curious stares that he wanted nothing more than to curse at. Call him a liar? Ha! He was no liar… most of the time, anyway.

"Y-you didn't answer when I called your house."

Lovino rounded on Feliciano, flabbergasted at the betrayal. Feliciano went on under his older brother's seething gaze, more tears running down his cheeks as he did. "I-I called your house… I called so many times, Lovi, and you didn't answer. Not once. I even called your boss, your colleagues… why didn't you answer, Lovino? Where were you? I was so scared!"

"The coward probably ran away." Sadiq snorted.

Lovino growled. "I did not run away, you bastard! I came back for Feliciano. If I ran away, why would I come back, uh?"

"Is true," Ivan drawled, his violet eyes seeming to bore into his flesh. "What happened when Veneziano called? How come you cared enough to come and save him, but not enough to answer his calls?"

"Seems pretty shady to me." Alfred muttered, realizing with horror that he had just agreed with Ivan. And it didn't seem to slip by the Russian.

All those eyes staring at him… Lovino wanted to punch them all, wanted to rip his hair out, would rather die than tell the truth, but he had no choice. They wouldn't let him slide by. Finally, he sighed and walked slowly over to a row of chairs, seating himself in one of them, slumping over wearily. "I will tell you—but you'd better not give me any shit about this later, got it?"

It took a moment for them all to nod. Lovino noticed, with avid disgust, that neither Gilbert nor Sadiq had complied. _Damn stupid bastards…_ "I… I was over at Spain's house before the Uprising started."

There was a series of curious mutters that irked Lovino to no end, and then Ivan quieted them with a wave of his hand. "Why were you not in your own country at the time?"

"Well… I was just visiting and then all of a sudden all this shit broke out and I couldn't get back home! What else do you want me to say, uh?"

Alfred raised a skeptical eyebrow and glanced at Ivan, knowing from his look that he too knew that Lovino was still lying. The Russian's gaze was pretty creepy and made his skin crawl.

"You are hiding something from us still, da?" Ivan asked, making Lovino frown.

"I don't know what you're talking about… I've told you everything, dammit!"

"Nyet, you haven't. Speak the truth or I shall use a more… _creative_ form of interrogation." Ivan smiled innocently.

Lovino's face paled and his limbs trembled. His whole body tensed, causing his shoulder wound to complain repeatedly. His eyes fell to the floor, trying to find his words. Should he tell them? No, no… he would never admit—

"Romano," Ivan asked. "What is your relation to Spain?"

That made Lovino's head snap up. His gaze was smoldering, but his hands still quivered with anxiety. "What do you mean by that, bastard? He is my dumbassed older brother!"

"Nyet, Romano, your _current _relation."

A lump formed in Lovino's throat and he bowed his head. He gathered his strength and the remainder of his pride. Well, there was no way around this now. The stupid, frost-bitten son of a bitch had found him out! He took a deep breath and mustered the fiercest, most menacing glare he could and said, "We were lovers, okay!"

Gilbert and Sadiq, being the arrogant assholes that they were, sniggered at the admission. Feliciano's eyes widened and he sniffed, muttering an excited "Ve~really, Lovi?" while Ludwig stared on in shock. Arthur was completely gobsmacked, while at the same time he tried to restrain himself from clobbering Francis, who was currently crooning various romanticisms. Alfred and Matthew eyed each other, blinking in surprise. How Lovino ever managed to have a relationship, Alfred didn't know. _Spain must be one patient guy… _And throughout this whole, humiliating ordeal, Lovino sat stock still, staring at them all viciously, perfectly aware that his face had turned a bright shade of tomato-red.

Ivan quieted them down again. "You spoke of him in the past tense. Why?"

Silence.

"You must tell us everything, Romano. We need to know who we have left."

Lovino tried to keep himself together as he began his explanation, "I was visiting Spain before the Uprising. We barely had any time together, so we normally met then. But the fucking rebels had to choose to make their moves then, and I couldn't get back home. One day, I got worried about Feli, and I wanted to see if he was still alive. I felt guilty that I wasn't there to help him, so I asked Antonio if we could fly there. He agreed, but when we tried to annex one of the rebel's planes—since we were trapped in a government building—they found us and started shooting. The damn pilot flew off like a coward and left us stranded. The rebels chased us away from the building and into the woods where they eventually caught up with us.

"Then Antonio said-said he," At this point, Lovino's voice was faltering, and tears were pulling at his eyes. "He said for me to get to Feliciano, that he would hold them back. I told him that he was a stupid bastard, and that I wouldn't leave him. But he said that I needed to look for Feli, and that if I cared about my brother, I would leave. I had only seconds to make a choice… a few fucking seconds, and I chose Feli. I ran while Antonio shot at them, and then I heard a shout… it was such a horrible fucking shout…" Lovino let a few tears slip, angry at himself for having to explain his weaknesses and private life, and he scrubbed them grudgingly away. "I turned around and I saw him lying on the ground. There was so much blood." After a momentary pause, he collected himself and sniffed, "Well, he took a bullet to the head, so he didn't suffer. I just wish I wouldn't have been such a cowardly dumbass and done something… dammit, I could have _done _fucking _something_! _Dammit_!" He slammed his fist onto the armrest of the chair, holding in sobs.

"Lovino!" Feliciano squirmed in Ludwig's arms until the German was forced to release him. Feliciano parked himself in the seat beside his brother and wrapped his arms around him, tears rolling down his face. "I'm so sorry, Lovi, I wouldn't have been such a dick to you if I would have known!"

"Get off of me, dumbass!" Lovino tried to pry his brother off of him to no avail. "_I_ should be the one having a break down, dammit."

Francis and Gilbert exchanged solemn glances, and they knew what the other was thinking. They had not heard from Toni either, and somehow they knew… they knew that he was gone. It was heartbreaking, but there was no time for that. So they just stood there, staring at the crying brothers and trying to hold back their own tears for their dead friend.

"Dude, I thought you totally hated Spain." Alfred burst out, not reading the atmosphere… again. "Actually, I thought you hated everyone."

"I do, bastard!" Lovino shouted, nails digging into the armrest in annoyance. "Just not Toni, Feli, or women. And I thought I told you not to give me any shit about this!"

"We won't," Arthur broke in, eyeing Alfred in warning. "And we are all sincerely sorry for your loss. But we can't stand around here discussing it. If most of you've forgotten, we are _minutes_ away from being pumped full of lead!"

"He's right," Ludwig said, pulling his pistol and cocked it, looking at his watch. "_Scheiße_! We have less than ten minutes to prepare. I suggest we—"

"Wave a white flag!" Feliciano exclaimed, pulling one out of his uniform. "I have one, see? Maybe they will let us go! Wave it!"

"Damn idiot," Lovino growled from his place seated in a chair. "That won't work!" Then under his breath he muttered, "Trust me, I've tried."

"Calm down, everybody, calm down." Ivan shouted above the yammering, frightening rather than soothing the group. "_I _suggest we all rush out as a group shooting. It is risky, but it's worth a shot, da?"

They all stared at him in shock.

"Ah, fuck it! We're screwed!" Lovino groaned.

There was stretch of tense silence, in which three minutes ticked by.

Then, Alfred said somewhat hesitantly, "… I can fly us…"

"You can _what_?" Arthur looked incredulously at him.

"I said I can fly us." Alfred repeated, looking a bit nervous.

Arthur glared at him before punching him in the arm and yelling, "Why didn't you fucking tell us earlier, you bloody git?! Did it not occur to you that if another five minutes had passed by without you saying anything we all might have died?"

"Ow, man," Alfred recoiled, pouting. "I-I didn't wanna! I mean… I haven't flown since double W double I. At least not excessively. It had only been on special occasions before the shit hit the fan. "

"You still have flown before, oui?" Francis said, now recovered from his hangover.

"Well, yeah, but…" Alfred began to tug nervously at his leather gloves. "Uh… heheh, sorry?"

"You will be," Arthur growled. "if you don't get your arse moving!"

"Okay, okay!" Alfred thought for a moment, then said, "All right, I've got a plan. I'll fly. Let's take the plane Mr. Roberts was prepping for us. That'll save us some time."

"Mr. Roberts?" Sadiq wrinkled his nose.

"We'll explain later." Arthur assured, quickly throwing his bag over his shoulder and following Alfred.

"I hope he fucking knows what he's doing." Lovino groaned, rising slowly from the chair. Gilbert strode over and slung one of his arms over his shoulder, making the Italian redden and snap, "I don't need your fucking help, dammit!"

"Let the awesome me help you." Gilbert replied with a smirk. "You have no room to resist, kesesese~"

"Al!" Matthew called, gathering his things and bolting toward Gate 3. "Al, please don't get impulsive. If you can't do this, you can't. I don't want us all dying because of your stupid decision."

Alfred scoffed, "Why do you always think I don't think before I act?" Matthew gave him an accusing stare. "I thought you were supposed to trust me, bro? I promise I'll get us outta here. I'm the hero, after all!"

Ivan rolled his eyes and started toward the gate also. "I believe my plan would have yielded a much better result."

"I would rather _try _to escape than run out on that suicide mission." Yao muttered under his breath, squeaking when Ivan threw him a what-was-that-bitch? smile.

"Are you sure America-san will be able to get us out of here?" Kiku asked, a bit worried.

"Ve~! America will save us! America, take my flag, you might need it~"

"Stop that, Veneziano." Ludwig snapped, making the young Italian pout. Ludwig sighed and muttered, "Stupid child…"

They all poured into the gate, boarding the plane with lightning speed.

Arthur glanced at his watch, his heart skipping a beat. "Three minutes,"

"Verdammt!" Ludwig cursed, struggling to strap Feliciano into his seat. "Erg… Veneziano, please sit still…"

"I can help with that, chéri~"

"Stop creeping, Frog! Now's not the time!"

"Lemme see, uh…" Alfred examined the control board. "Now, what was I supposed to do before takeoff?"

Arthur's patience was wearing thin. "Ignore that, git! There is no one to communicate with, we don't know where we're going, and Mr. Roberts most likely checked the fuel levels and tire wear!"

"Hey!" Alfred turned to Arthur who was standing behind him, arms crossed in the cockpit. "You seem to know a lot about this."

"Well," Arthur looked a bit apprehensive. "I flew with the RAF, and I have piloted a jet before. But that was only a few times very long ago. The jet thing was for the queen."

"C'mon, Artie," Alfred begged, his lower lip jutting out. "Pwease be my co-pilot."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "That won't get me to do anything, git."

Alfred rounded his eyes. "Pweeeaaaasse?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment longer before plopping down in the seat beside him and sighing. "All right, I'll be your co-pilot. Just try not to be too annoying."

He winced as Alfred let out a loud whoop and placed his hands on the control yoke. "Okay, now let's get this baby moving."

"You should probably start the engine first."

"Oh, yeah, right," Alfred flipped the switch and the plane began to vibrate as it came to life.

Arthur put a hand over his face. "Ugh… Lord help us."

"That would be useful." Alfred smiled, not amusing Arthur in the least.

A gunshot sounded a distance away, barely comprehensible over the sound of the plane engine. Ludwig came rushing in, throwing open the door and saying, "Get a move on! They have started invading the terminal!"

"Gotcha," Alfred nodded, his palms slippery with sweat and his heart pounding. Sure, he had total confidence in his abilities but… what if he was mistaken and they all went down because of him? That would definitely not do wonders for his reputation. He took a deep breath and began to move the plane forward slowly, so slowly in fact that Arthur had to remind him more than once that they didn't have enough runway to be so snail-like with their speed.

"I know, I know! Jeez…" Alfred snapped, making Arthur want to slap him, but he refrained. After all, if the plane went down, it wasn't going to be Arthur's fault in any way and he wanted to keep it that way.

Gradually, the plane began to speed up. Alfred could hear anxious shouts behind him, something along the lines of the rebels racing vehicles up the runway. Alfred didn't dare take his eyes off the runway, but Arthur did.

"They won't make it in time." Arthur assured him, but looked pale nonetheless. "Just… make sure we make the takeoff, okay, Alfred?"

"'M tryin', Igs." Damn, why did his skills have to be so goddamn rusty? It wouldn't have killed him to have a little practice every once in a while…

By now, they were going fast down the runway, and Alfred could clearly see, with resigned terror, that the pavement was running out rather quickly.

"Alfred…" Arthur warned, his fingers digging into the armrests on his seat. "Alfred, I believe you're supposed to start lifting the nose of the plane now."

"Oh, right," Alfred did so, albiet jerkily, and he was glad that he had Arthur there to guide him through the procedures… no matter how humiliating it was to have some grouchy, arrogant British guy telling you what to do. Well, as long as the others didn't see this…

"Lift it a tad more… there." Arthur's heart was in his throat, his eyes pinned on Alfred's hands and every movement they made on the yoke. "You're doing fine, just remember to keep lifting it steadily until you reach the end of the runway. If you've done it correctly, the whole plane will be airborne." The Briton's voice wavered a bit, and he squeaked when Alfred's hand twitched on the wheel, making the whole plane tilt to one side.

"Dude, seriously, stop whimpering. You're making me nervous."

"And _I _don't have the right to be nervous?"

"No… huh," Alfred nodded to the window. "We've run out of pavement."

Arthur's eyes widened and he waited for the sound of metal crunching and a slow, fiery death, reciting the Lord's Prayer mixed in with _Dumbarse yank, dumbarse yank, Alfred, you dumbarse, I can't believe a dumbarse has killed me, _over and over in his head. But nothing happened.

He gave an elated laugh that sounded a bit too joyous than he had wanted it. "You did it, Alfred! You didn't kill us!"

"I know," Alfred smiled triumphantly. "You know, I remember you praising me like 'You did it Alfred! You tied your shoelace!' or 'You did it, Alfred! You shot your first pigeon!' but I don't recall ever hearing you congratulate me for not killing you before. That's a first."

"And be sure I won't have to say it again." Arthur said flatly, peering out the window. "So… do you have any idea where we are going?"

"To infinity and beyond?"

"Don't make me have to regret letting you take the yoke."

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Nuu, Spain! Why did you have to leave? You and Romano were the only OTC in this fic... for now anyway. Unless America crashes the plane that is.

And yes, that was a hint.


	15. Not-So-First in Flight

**I'm surprised I would actually WANT to be on this flight.  
**

Warning: Angst, swearing, innuendo, threats.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Not-So-First in Flight**

"So, about the bets!" Francis burst into the cockpit, smiling widely.

Arthur spun around, fuming. "Don't go around shouting and throwing open doors!" Then in a lower, but still stern voice, he added, "Alfred might get distracted."

"Oh," Francis hadn't thought about that before, and for once—though he'd never openly admit it—he was actually grateful for the Brit's warning. He walked over, leaning on the back of Arthur's chair, much to the Englishman's displeasure. "I was just thinking about those bets we made… and as I recall, you were wrong!"

Arthur swiveled around in his chair, making Francis stumble awkwardly, snapping, "I wasn't the only one wrong, Frog!"

"Yeah, dude, I mean, honestly, you can't take all the credit." Alfred said, glancing back from the wheel.

Arthur pointed a threatening finger at him. "You. Keep your eyes on the sky."

Alfred pouted, but did as he was asked, to Arthur's utter relief.

"So," Francis began. "How do we do this?"

"Well, let's go by who we said would not show up." Arthur suggested.

"I'm all for it." Alfred interjected.

"You be quiet and I'll sort out the bets. Focus."

"Gotcha, Art. Jeez, so friggin' pushy…"

Arthur ignored the muttered insult, and began, "Okay, so I said Turkey wouldn't show up. And France said that the Italies wouldn't make it. And Alfred said that Russia didn't make it, of course…" He pondered for a bit before concluding, "All right. I said Turkey and Turkey showed up, so Francis gets my compass, I'm pained to say…"

"Hold on a sec," Alfred said. "I guessed that Turkey _would _be here. Why don't I win?"

"Because you said Russia wouldn't be here, which makes me the recipient of your… whatever-you-call-it."

"It's a dream-catcher, moron." Alfred scoffed, and Arthur glared. "And I still don't get this."

"Of course you don't."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't get this either, ami. Would you care to elaborate for us?"

Arthur sighed. "Okay… both France and I guessed Russia would be here and Alfred didn't, so technically, we would both be winners… that is, if Alfred hadn't said Turkey would be here, thus proving my bet false."

Francis wrinkled his nose in confusion. "But I also said Turkey was going to be here, cher. Have you gone deaf?"

"No, you git!" Arthur snapped. "Don't interrupt. As I was saying, Alfred guessed Turkey would be here and proved me wrong when he showed up. France would have won also, if he hadn't said that the Italies would be here. Now, I know both of you said the Italies would be here, but I said the Italies would be here, and so did Alfred. His guess would have counted if he had said that Russia would have showed up also, thus copying my claim. As so, and if my calculations are correct, Alfred lost to me, I lost to… ugh, _the Frog_, and France lost to Alfred."

Francis and Alfred were both silent, trying to contemplate what the man had just said. Eventually they came to the unspoken conclusion that it was too damn complicated to figure out, and that if Arthur admitted that he lost to Francis—which he would never do under any normal circumstances—he was probably telling the truth.

"Oui, so congratulations, ami, you won." He fished the small sack of aphrodisiac out of his pocket and gave it to Alfred, the few moments he took his hands off the wheel to grab it making the plane tip slightly to one side. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?"

Francis _tsked_ with a leering grin on his face. "No, amour, it is _who _you are going to do."

"Shut it, Frog, and here." Arthur grudgingly tossed his prized compass over to Francis, who examined it closely.

"Uh, mon cher," Francis tapped lightly at the glass pane. "Are you sure this isn't… broken?"

Arthur looked extremely offended. "Of course not, bloody prat! Why else would I give it to you?"

Francis gave him a skeptical look, but said nothing. He was just glad to finally have something of Arthur's to keep with him, to hold, to look at, to marvel over, to… do other _things_ with.

Arthur looked at Alfred, hand out and gesturing. "All right. I do believe you owe me that drear-retcher or whatever the hell it is."

"_Dream-catcher_," Alfred enunciated, taking his hands off the wheel for a moment to search in his many pockets. Finally, he located the trinket, giving it to Arthur gently, as if it would snap if he so much as moved too quickly.

Arthur snatched it out of his hand, enjoying the outraged look on Alfred's face as he mulled it over curiously. "I think I've heard of these, but I didn't pay any mind to them…"

"Well," Alfred said seriously. "Do well to pay mind to this one. It's very special and very old. 'S not like some of those other fake models out there that they sell in souvenir shops. I got it in the early years of the Cold War and it was blessed by a real shaman."

"You believe in this stuff?" Arthur asked in surprise.

Alfred scoffed. "What, and now all of a sudden _I'm _strange for believing in the supernatural? Dude, how many 'friends' have you got again?"

Arthur growled, "I've told you time and time again, brat, that my friends are 100 percent real! I should know. I talk to them all the time."

Alfred and Francis exchanged worried looks. "Whatever you say, dude." Then Alfred added as an afterthought, laughing, "Just as long as you tell me what kind of drugs you use to see your 'friends', 'cause I can sure as hell use a fix right now."

"I'm not lying impudent brat!" Arthur snapped. "And you will not be getting smashed when you're flying an airplane!"

"Chill, bro, sheesh." Alfred said, pocketing the aphrodisiac with a sigh. "You know what I just thought of? Where are we going to land?"

Francis and Arthur eyed each other in question. Then Arthur said, "Well… I don't know."

"Is there possibly a place that does not have many people?" Francis asked. "The less people there are around us, the safer we will be."

Arthur blinked. "You've got a point there, Frog." When Francis leered at him, he said, "Don't let it go to your head!" When Francis continued to leer, Arthur blushed and snapped, "Your _other_ head, insufferable pervert!"

"Well…" Alfred took a moment to think. "Montana has Yellowstone National Park. There are many predators living there, granted, but no one in their right mind would think to go in there. And I believe we have enough protection to ward off anything that might confront us."

"Sounds like a good idea." Arthur agreed, rising from his seat. "I should go inform the others of the plan, yes?"

"Artie," Alfred said. "Please bring them up to speed with Mr. Roberts and everything. I feel his memory shouldn't be forgotten. He helped us a lot and…"

"I understand," Arthur stopped him, turning around to snag Francis by the shirt. "And _you_, Frog, won't be staying in here to distract Alfred from his work. Into the cabin with you."

Francis leered as he was pushed ahead of Arthur. "Oh là là, mon cher, getting a little rough, are we?" He waggled his eyebrows seductively.

Arthur rolled his eyes and gave Francis a massive shove to the back that made the other man stumble through the door of the cockpit. "Yeah, yeah, shut up and move."

"That's what she sa—Oof!"

Alfred chuckled to himself as he heard Arthur hit Francis with the door.

In the cabin, everyone was getting anxious. Feliciano had finally been strapped into his seat and Ludwig was sitting on his right side, shielding him from Ivan's impatient glares as he sat in the seat across the aisle. Lovino was sitting with his arms crossed in the seat in front of Feliciano, brooding as Gilbert sat beside him, talking about how awesome he was. Kiku sat next to Yao a row over, staring out of the window, while Yao muttered irately under his breath as Sadiq crunched annoyingly through multiple packages of sweet and salty peanuts he had found in the back. And, as always, Matthew was seated in the midst of them all, being utterly ignored.

Francis stumbled through the door followed quickly by Arthur.

"Honhon, you can push me around anytime, amour~"

"Sit down before I punch your lights out, Frog!"

"Mm, go ahead, I find I'm _much _more creative when I'm asleep."

Arthur's face reddened a bit and he sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned to address the others. "Since being in any area where there is a large population would be extremely risky, we have decided to land in a secluded place in Montana."

Ivan's eyes immediately narrowed. "I do not like this idea."

"Why?" Arthur snapped back, too busy glaring at Francis to notice the dangerous look Ivan was giving him. "Because it doesn't involve some gutsy maneuver that might kill us all?"

"Nyet," Ivan growled, and this time Arthur minded enough to direct his full attention to the Russian and take a wary step back. "There are too many ways this could go wrong. I'm sure there are a scarce amount of people living in the forests there, but the animals have seen no reason to abandon their homes. We could be even more at risk out in the wild away from an easy supply of food, water, and shelter than we may be in a city or town."

"Not only that, but if something bad happens, who will know where to find us, eh?" Gilbert took a moment to cease talking about himself and mutter, extending a fearful look to Ivan and then back to Arthur.

Ivan made a rumbling noise deep in the back of his throat akin to the growl of a bear. He swiveled in his seat to look through narrowed eyes at Gilbert and snapped, "If you keep implying who may _make _these bad things happen, I'm certain that they will be more inclined to come for you first."

The Prussian let out a soft squeak and shrank back into his seat. Beside him, Lovino looked relieved by the fact that he no longer had to listen to Gilbert's constant pratter.

"Hey!" Sadiq chimed, still crunching. "Don't be so negative! I know how to survive like a boss in the wild. You'll be safe with me."

"Oh, please," Yao spoke up. "I am much better survivor in wild. I am oldest nation, you know. Experienced."

Sadiq suddenly straightened up and tensed his muscles. "Are you saying you're better than me?"

"Of course,"

"I guess it's a competition, then." Sadiq sniffed, crossing his arms and giving Yao a narrowed look. "But I doubt you can beat me."

"This is no time to quarrel amongst ourselves!" Arthur snapped before Yao could remark. "It's already been decided. And, in all honesty, I believe we've all had enough with crowded cities. Why not try this out and see if it works? No one says we have to stay there for months on end. We have a plane."

Everyone looked at each other, muttering and nodding in approval. Ivan, however, glared at the Briton. "I agree. But next time, we go by majority vote."

From the open cockpit door, Alfred's annoying laugh could be heard. "Go by majority vote, my ass, commie bastard."

Ivan sat back in his seat, looking unusually calm. However the creepy, childlike smile was on his face and his ominous purple aura was starting up. "I would not be saying such things, Amerika. I am no longer communist, as you know. And you don't want an enemy like me."

Alfred scoffed, the plane tilting slightly to one side as he turned around to address the Russian. "Ha! Like you could threaten me. I was already your enemy, moron, and if you didn't know I totally kicked your commie ass!"

Everyone shrank back as a string of _kolkolkol_'s erupted darkly from Ivan. Though Ivan still retained his childlike appearance, his fingers were now puncturing the arm cushions of the seat.

"Uh, Alfred," Arthur said warily. "I-I don't think you should say anymore."

"Hahahaha!" Alfred laughed. "Whatdaya mean, bro? He can't touch me! Let him try and—"

Before Alfred could further piss Ivan off, Arthur quickly slammed the door to the cockpit shut. He waited for Ivan to settle down before continuing, "Ahem, right, so… we're over Ohio at the moment, I believe. We should be crossing the lakes here soon so as to avoid detection from as many people as possible. We'll be touching down in Montana in about six hours, but we'll have to stop for fuel first." When the plane tilted again, Arthur braced himself against the wall and put a hand over his face. "Oh God help us."

"We'll see," said Matthew, and of course, no one heard.

Arthur went on as if no one had spoken. "Right, so America wanted me to bring you up to speed on what all conspired before you lot showed up…"

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Definitely DO NOT want to be trapped miles in the air with Russia. Especially with America there to annoy the hell out of him. Who knows what else he's got hidden in that coat?

Things are picking up. And everyone knows planes can't keep going forever...


	16. All For One and One For Pasta?

**Only two ways this thing can work out: The Justice League or Team Rocket.  
**

Warning: Angst, weapons, threats, swearing, scary Russia, threats, blah, blah, blah.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**All For One, and One For… Pasta?**

"Damn!"

Everyone's heads turned to look at the cockpit door which hung ajar. The shout had been Arthur's, and the man came rushing out into the cabin a moment later, his eyes narrowed with annoyance.

"We're running out of fuel." he said grudgingly, as if it was the plane's fault its fuel tank wasn't unusually large. "We'll have to land soon." _I still don't like the idea of landing here. Too many people… if only there was a small, isolated airport nearby!_

A few seconds passed before Ludwig asked, "Where?"

Arthur sighed deeply before dropping down in a seat nearby. He ran a hand through his mussed hair and replied, "Milwaukee," He uttered the name like a death sentence.

Ivan raised a confused eyebrow. "What is so bad about this place?"

Arthur stood sharply and turned, struggling to keep a 'you idiot!' out of his response. "It's the capital of Wisconsin! Do you know how many people will be there?"

"Ve~!" Feliciano said. "Maybe they will see my white flag and not hurt us!"

"I doubt that, idiot." Lovino mumbled.

"I say we land elsewhere." Yao suggested. "Perhaps somewhere near it?"

"No," Arthur said, exasperated. "The fuel tank wasn't completely full when we took off. I don't know why, but it wasn't. We need to land in the closest city that has sufficient amounts of fuel. And that is Milwaukee."

"Have you spotted people so far?" Kiku asked, fingering the hilt of his katana.

Arthur sighed. "Not really, no. Which leads us to believe that whatever people there are left in this area may have migrated into the city to seek food and supplies."

"How are we going to land without anyone noticing, then?" Sadiq asked, tossing his finished bag of peanuts onto the floor and picking his teeth.

Arthur huffed. "That's the point. There's no way they _won't _notice us. And they will surely mob the plane if it's the only transportation out."

"Then don't land there!" Lovino hissed, his voice strong but his hands trembling. "Just land outside the city and a group of us will drive the fuel trucks there."

"I'm assuming you won't be part of that group, ami?" Francis asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up, Wine Bastard."

"We can land there," Gilbert began, a little apprehensive with Ivan still glaring at him. "and half of us can guard the plane while the other half refuel it."

Ivan sat up. "That sounds like it might work." he said grudgingly, not believing he was agreeing with anything the Prussian suggested.

Ludwig thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Right, then we'll need volunteers to help guard the plane." He raised his hand. "I will stay."

Immediately, Ivan's and Gilbert's hands shot up in the air, and they eyed each other with malice. Arthur quickly shook his head, saying, "Er… I don't think it would be the wisest idea if you two were allowed to work together."

"Da," Ivan growled, his eyes flashing. "I might _accidentally _shoot him."

"I'd like to see you try to shoot my awesome self, pretentious bastard." Gilbert snarled back, shrinking back in his seat slightly when Ivan began to mutter an unbroken string of _kolkolkol_'s.

Arthur looked back and forth between them warily and then said, "Very well. Ivan, you will help guard the plane with Germany. Prussia, you can help me refuel the plane."

"What? No way!" Gilbert shouted in protest. "I'm too awesome for such small work!"

"_Small work_, you say?" Arthur hissed, glaring him down. "I'll have you know that _without _this 'small work', we wouldn't be able to_ leave _Milwaukee!"

Gilbert was about to say something else, but surprisingly kept his mouth shut, choosing instead to glare at Ivan, who was now sporting a rather smug smile.

"Now," Arthur continued, clearing his throat. "For those who will be refueling the plane… I'll nominate some of them myself, assuming they'd prefer it to guarding the plane anyway: Veneziano and Romano."

Feliciano gave an excited squeal and began waving his white flag, while Lovino relaxed in his seat.

"I will volunteer to refuel the plane also." Francis spoke up, leering at Arthur. "I would much rather not part from you, chéri."

Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Right, so the Frog saves his neck once again. As for the rest of you?"

Yao raised his hand. "I will help guard the plane."

"As will I." Kiku said.

After a few silent moments, Sadiq raised his hand. "I volunteer to guard the plane. No way am I missing this opportunity to prove that I'm the best fighter!" He glared pointedly at Yao.

Arthur rolled his eyes again. "All right, then… wait a minute, I could have sworn there were twelve of us here…"

Everyone looked around, and Matthew sighed. He had been forgotten… _again._

He stood and raised his hand, trying his best to project his normally small voice. "I will refuel the plane with you, England. I expect Al will want to help guard it."

At first, everyone looked around, as if they were hearing strange voices and were trying to locate the source. Finally, their eyes rested on Matthew, and nearly all of them jumped with surprise… except Ludwig and Ivan, both of whom seemed to have already built up their courage concerning their future mission.

Arthur nodded, trying to find his words. "Ah, yes… yes, Alfred would want to guard the plane, but—"

"Damn straight, I do!" Alfred's voice called from the cockpit. The plane listed slightly to one side as he did. "England can fill up the plane, cancha, Igs? They'll, like, totally need a leader out there—though you all know I'm the best 'cause I'm the hero and all, but I kinda wanna kick ass here!"

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd been putting up with Alfred and his annoyingly loud self ever since they took off a few hours ago. "Okay, America, just… just try not to hurt yourself or anyone else, all right?"

"Will do, bro!"

"Wait a second." Gilbert protested. "Why does _America _get to guard the plane when he and Russia nearly killed each other and the rest of the world with their fighting? I'd say we're safer letting me guard the plane along with Russia."

Arthur shook his head and Gilbert frowned. "No, unlike you, Russia and America haven't actually managed to subdue each other. I think it'll take more force than they can afford to attack each other rather than the rebels coming at them."

Gilbert stared at him in disbelief. Then he leaned back, looking away and folding his arms. "… unawesome bastards…"

"Right, then." Arthur clapped his hands in conclusion. "We should be landing in about ten minutes. I suggest you ready yourselves in the meantime." And with that, he turned on his heel and walked back through the cockpit door, Francis catcalling after him.

* * *

"Holy shit," Alfred muttered as he lowered the plane from the clouds. "Look at how many there are."

Arthur leaned forward to get a better view of the city below. "Oh dear God,"

The streets below were swarming with people. The buildings above them were smoking. Large mobs dotted the cityscape, breaking here and there, supposedly from gunfire.

"How the bloody hell are we going to land?"

"_Where_ are we going to land is the question."

Arthur's heart sped up. He hadn't thought of that.

Alfred squinted down at the ground. "There,"

"Where?"

"Right there," Alfred pointed to a place beside the airport. It looked like a hill.

Arthur studied it. "There seems to be a small crowd there…" He sighed and sat back in his chair. "But we'll just have to brave it."

"Of course we will, bro." Alfred reassured, though Arthur was still skeptical. "We got ammo, and it's not like none have us have never shot a gun before."

"Yes, but… there are so many." Arthur was nervously wringing his hands now. Alfred, of course, never thought past having enough weapons. "And we'll have to fetch the fuel truck from the airport a mile or so away. It will be a miracle if we all come out unscathed."

Before Alfred could say anything more, Arthur rose from his seat and stepped through the cockpit door into the cabin. At once, many pairs of eyes met him, some scared, some anxious, and some determined.

Arthur's throat felt unnaturally dry as he spoke, "Well… we're going to land. Before you all belt in, I'd like to bring up a couple of … quandaries." He swallowed then continued. "We will be landing a mile or so away from the airport, so I'll need some people, and we'll have to change up who's assigned to what—guards and fuelers included—to come with me in order to drive the fuel truck from there to here. There shall be no volunteering this time. I will be choosing those who will come with me, preferably the most reliable." He peered around for a moment and nodded. "Right, for the fuelers, I choose Prussia, France,"—he sighed at this as Francis smirked at him—"and Romano." The Italian's eyes widened and he blanched. _Well, _Arthur thought. _At least he can run fast._

Arthur searched the cabin. "And… Canada?"

Matthew started, not expecting his name to be called… or even remembered. He raised his hand. Arthur nodded. "Ah, right, you can stay here with Veneziano. I trust you are still a good shot?"

"Of course," Matthew said.

"Good, then help Veneziano stay calm and please be sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"Okay,"

Arthur peered around at all of them again. "Now the guards. Hmm… I'll only need a couple, so I'll take Turkey and Germany."

Sadiq seemed perfectly fine with this, actually, he seemed excited to prove himself. Ludwig, however, shook his head. "I'm sorry, England, but I must stay with the plane. Veneziano gets very frightened if I'm not around."

"… stupid Potato Bastard." Lovino muttered, then turned to Arthur. "Don't let him stay behind! His damn closet perverseness might come out if I'm not there with him." He flashed a glare at the German.

Gilbert waved him away. "My bruder won't do anything you wouldn't like, Romano. Though I wouldn't say you'd like anything he does anyway. Besides," He smiled haughtily. "I'm so awesome, you'll forget completely about your brother, kesesese!" He put Lovino in a head lock and proceeded to muss his hair, all the while, the Italian cursing and thrashing.

Arthur shook his head. "I'm sorry, Romano, but I can't afford to do that. If I leave you here with your brother, you'll only succeed in getting each other all the more frightened."

Matthew did something very bold at that moment, pulling out his rifle and cocking it. Everyone flinched, and the Canadian smiled. _So, they hear me when I have a weapon, eh? _"Don't worry, Romano. I've been hunting for most of my existence, so I can shoot well. If so much as one of those rebels manages to get past the rest of the guards, you can be sure I'll shoot him between the eyes before he can even _look_ at your brother."

They all stared at him before Lovino managed to break free of Gilbert's hold and say, "You'd better be telling the truth, Syrup Bastard."

Matthew smiled wryly. "Of course," And, with another audible click, put the rifle on safety again and set it down beside his seat.

Arthur went on, "Right, so I'll take China instead." Yao nodded his approval, Sadiq flashing him a challenging look, and Arthur continued. "So that's Prussia, France, Romano, and myself on fuel, and Turkey and China for guards. The rest can stay with the plane." Arthur felt the plane shift into a downwards position. Then a voice came on the speakers:

_"Gentlemen, we are going to be landing in a moment, so please buckle up and remain in your seats. Make sure all loose belongings are secured or put away and if Artie can just get his ass in here and help me land this son of a bitch, we might still be alive tomorrow!"_

"Shut your foul mouth, brat!" Arthur snapped back. "You're making everyone nervous."

The speaker came on again: _"I would just like to point out that my language is _way _milder than the supposed 'British gentleman's'…"_

"All right!" Arthur shouted, slipping through the cockpit door and slamming it behind him. There was more shouting during which a few words slipped out such as "Arrogant prat!" and "Annoying git!" and "Should have bashed you on the head when your were younger so that your brain would be righted!"

"Settle down, bro!" Alfred said. "Now you're making _me _nervous."

Eventually, the plane was guided to the hill and was landed without a hitch. Well, except that the anxiety on board increased exceptionally. Arthur stood from his seat, turning before he left the cockpit.

"Alfred, please don't let past animosities distract you from your mission."

"Wha?" Alfred looked at him quizzically. "Of course not, man! When have you known me to divert from any plan?"

Arthur shook his head. "Ah, just… never mind. I doubt you'll have a chance to anyway."

"Chance to do _what_, bro?"

"Nothing, I-I," Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Just don't disappoint me, okay? I don't want to come back here to find the whole lot of you massacred because you decided to spark something up with Russia." Before Alfred could respond, Arthur added, "And, just know if we don't happen to make it back—"

"—we're screwed?"

"No, you git…" Arthur sighed. Alfred was making this harder than it had to be. "I want you to know that… I've never hated you." _Well… close enough. _

Alfred blinked at him as understanding settled over him, but before he could reply, Arthur was shutting the door to the cockpit behind him.

Arthur stepped into the cabin and was surprised—and quite terrified—to find that Ivan was standing in front of him. He gave a small yelp and scrambled back a bit before righting himself and asking, his voice unusually high, "R-ready, are we?"

"Da," Ivan answered, though his hands were empty of weapons, Arthur knew his trench coat was full of them. "We are more than ready. The rebels are approaching," The Russian indicated the mob through the windows as it made its way up the steep hill. "I suggest you go down the back of the hill with the rest of your group so that you will not be spotted. The rest of us will hold them off." Then, slapping him rather roughly on the shoulder with a cold hand, Ivan said firmly, "Good luck, comrade. And just remember: if you don't succeed in obtaining the fuel truck, then all our deaths will be the result of your failed plan." He smiled down at him

Arthur nodded, his hand going to massage the spot on his shoulder that he was sure had a large bruise blossoming in the shape of the Russian's large hand. "Yeah, right, I'll remember."

He moved past Ivan with a shiver, his heart now pounding painfully against his ribcage, and pulled the switch that open the hatch and released the inflatable slide which would serve as their way down from the plane. He then turned, motioning toward them. "Right, then. My group, follow me out first. We'll be going around the backside of the plane and down the back of the hill to avoid detection. The rest of you slide down after us and hold the mob off the best you can until we can get the fuel truck up here."

"_Tous pour un, un pour tous_." Francis said with a smile, putting his hand out, palm down.

It took a moment for Arthur to translate on account of his anxiety, but he eventually said, "All for one, one for all, right." He was apprehensive to touch Francis's hand at first, but he eventually put his hand on top of Francis's. He rolled his eyes as Francis leered, though he had to admit, he was feeling much more confident now.

"I'm awesomely in, kesese!" Gilbert said, slapping his hand down.

"We must work as one now," Yao said, adding his own.

"A samurai never gives up on his teammates." Kiku said.

"Ja, all hostilities are over between us." Ludwig said.

"For now, at least." Sadiq said.

"Ve~me too! I want in too!" Feliciano said.

Lovino looked at them all, thoroughly unimpressed. Then, "This is such a waste of time, but fine, dammit!" He put in his hand as well, albeit grudglingly.

"Don't forget me," Matthew put his hand in, making everyone flinch as they just noticed him.

Alfred exited the cockpit, saw what was going on and said, "Whoo! All right, team huddle!" And slapped his hand down, causing the stack of others to almost crumble from the unchecked strength.

Ivan put his hand over Alfred's, and the two had a slight scuffle to see whose hand would come out on top until Ivan eventually won by crushing Alfred's fingers. "Da, we are all in this together, now." He glared at Alfred, who gave him an equally malicious look.

Francis smiled. "All for one, and one for—"

"Pastaaaa~!"

Everyone looked at Feliciano quizzically before Francis nodded and said, "One for pasta."

They all took back their hands and turned to the slide.

His heart in his throat, Arthur slid down first, quickly followed by a confident Gilbert, a nervous Francis, and a hesitant Lovino. Sadiq and Yao arranged their weapons before sliding down after them.

_And so it begins. _Arthur thought as he stared out at the people approaching.

_ The countdown._

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: It's the final countdooown, dunuh, nuh, nuh, dunuh, nuh, nuh, nuh...

Spoiled the mood, didn't I? Well, shit. XD

Annoying cliffhanger is annoying. *cue announcer voice* But tune in next time to see the most dramatic chapter yet. X3


	17. Against the Clock I

**Let's hope England learned some stuff from all those 007 movies.  
**

Warning: Angst, weapons, stuff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Against the Clock I**

Arthur's stomach was not coping well with the current situation, and he feared that if he spoke, nothing would come out but vomit. Instead, he directed his group, Francis, Gilbert, Lovino, Sadiq, and Yao included, out of the plane, down the slide, and onto the ground.

It took a moment for Arthur to steady his feet, for the flight to America and the flight here had done a number on his legs. He motioned for his group to follow him, not daring to assess the position of the mob, though he could tell from the clatter they were making, that they were already halfway up the hill. Luckily, though, no one could see them from where they stood now on the ground. If they hurried, they would not be spotted and pursued.

Knowing that time was not on their side, Arthur broke into a run, the others following him, until they reached the crest of the hill. He stopped at the top, carefully picking his way down the side until he reached the bottom, by which time he could hear the sound of gunshots and shouting from above.

_God, please let this work… _he thought as the rest of his group gathered behind him. He turned to them. "All right. This is what will happen. I'm going to look around the side of this hill and locate a secure escape route. If I do, I will signal to you."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "And what will the signal be, ami?"

"You'll know." And he was off.

He ran as fast as he could, despite knowing they were not seen, his mind becoming increasingly fogged with paranoia. Every sense was on high alert, every muscle tense, so that even the snapping of a twig or the squawk of a bird nearby seemed unnaturally harsh.

He reached the edge of the hill after what seemed like ages, the sounds from above pushing him on. Arthur cautiously peered around the hill, eyes surveying the area to and from the airport with great scrutiny. Finally, his eyes locked on a trail that made a wide path around the hill—and the crowd—that led behind a few warehouses which sat on the edge of the runway. From what it sounded like, the mob was too intent on plowing through the guards and securing the plane to even notice his group.

Arthur smiled in spite of himself and turned around, waving his arms over his head. The rest of his group noticed immediately and rushed up to meet him. By now, Lovino was shaking.

"Okay, you see that path?" Arthur indicated with a motion of his hand. "We're going to follow it and end at those warehouses over there. If this works, and if my observations are correct, they won't spot us. But we have to be quick, right?"

"Right!"

"Okay," Arthur swallowed dryly and willed his limbs to cease trembling. "Let's carry on, shall we?"

With a deep breath, he darted out from behind the hill, the rest of his group in hot pursuit. He could hear Lovino resisting as he was harshly being pulled along by Gilbert.

Arthur dared not look up or back. His only focus was on the warehouse ahead of him. As more gunshots rang out, he urged his feet to move faster, and eventually, he was at the wall of the long building, inching over into one of the doors. He quickly found a sturdy box and sank down onto it, trying to catch his breath and slow the sporadic beating of his heart.

He was so absorbed in regaining his strength that he didn't notice the others enter.

Francis was the first in after him, leaning with a hand against the wall, clutching a stitch in his side. Gilbert came in next, tugging with him Lovino, who was trying to pry the Prussian's hand off of his wrist and was shouting, his voice a mixture of indignance and panic. Yao rushed in after them, stopping to stand by the door, his wok raised and ready. Sadiq was last, running in and preparing to sit and rest before he saw Yao, at which point he unsheathed his kilij and took up position opposite Yao at the door, ever the one not to be outdone.

Francis turned to Arthur, coughing a bit to clear his throat. "Angleterre… w-where do we go now?"

Arthur stood, still panting, and walked over to peer out of the windows. "There," he said after a moment. "That truck there, near the luggage belt. We need to get there without being seen. Though I don't see anyone around at the moment."

"Yes, for moment." Yao said. "It not be peaceful for long."

"I agree," Sadiq huffed with a glare at Yao.

"Should we send someone out to see?" Francis suggested.

"Ja!" Gilbert replied, swinging Lovino forward. "Ja, have this one go out. If anyone is out there, he'll take off running so fast, they'll never catch him! Kesesese!"

Lovino squirmed in his grasp, punching him with all his might, but only succeeding in making himself look like a weakling. "Let go of me, dammit! Get your Potato Bastard hands off of me!"

"Be quiet!" Sadiq hissed at them. "And stop moving around so much, it'll attract attention."

Lovino stopped instantly, flashing the man a furious look. Gilbert smirked, still holding Lovino tightly around the wrist so that he couldn't get away.

Arthur stood. "Right, so, me first." He walked over to the doors and pushed them slowly open, peering out to make sure the coast was clear. "Okay, I'll run out. If all's well and we can cross, I'll signal you."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "You will wave your arms again?"

Arthur turned to him with a sarcastic look. "No, France, I'll stand on my head and jump up and down with my ears—of course I'll wave my arms!"

Yao stared at Arthur with amusement. "How disappointing. That would be sight to see."

Arthur gave Yao a glare that made Yao shrink back a bit and turned to the doors. Taking a deep breath as if he were about to dive off a cliff, Arthur ran out of the doors and a little ways down the runway, eyes on the hill. His heart was pounding as he stared, praying that he would not be noticed. When it was confirmed that the mob was too engaged in dealing with the guards, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and looked to his right.

His heart jumped into his throat as he saw another mob charging onto the opposite side of the runway from the airport terminals, weapons brandished and shouting with rage.

With a startled yelp, Arthur darted into the warehouse again, barely able to gather his words as the others looked curiously at him.

"They're… they're coming…"

"What!" Lovino shrieked, going stock still and paling considerably.

"From where?" Sadiq asked, raising his kilij. Beside him, Yao lifted his wok.

Arthur pointed. "There… over there, from the city."

Lovino's eyes widened as he peered out the windows, and he actually looked as if he were clutching Gilbert's arm. "Oh well… we tried, didn't we?"

They all looked at him scathingly.

Arthur straightened up and struggled to stop the rapid beating of his heart. "We can't just give up. If we go back to the plane empty-handed, we might as well all shoot ourselves because we'll be dead anyway."

Lovino frowned. "That makes me feel better, bastard."

"Well, it's the truth!" Arthur walked over to one of the windows and peered out cautiously. "They're nearly here… and they've spotted us. Damn! If only we had a bit more time, and then I could figure out the safest way to get across!"

"That makes me feel a _lot _better, bastard."

"Shut _up_, Romano!"

Arthur's eyes flew to the window again. "Oh, God, er… okay, think, think, Arthur! You've done this before!"

Francis raised a curious eyebrow. "You have, ami?"

Arthur growled. "Of course I have. Now, shut up, I'm thinking."

A few moments passed, all the while the crowd approaching nearer and Arthur peering anxiously out of the windows.

Then finally, "Aha!" Arthur turned back to them, a commanding gleam in his eye. "All right. To make this work, we'll have to split—"

"_Again_?" Lovino sputtered in horror.

"—Turkey, Prussia, and Romano, you go out first."

"Why _me_?"

Arthur glared at Lovino. "Because you're one hell of a good runner. Besides, if I let you come with me, you'll only get in the way." He nodded to the albino. "Prussia will help you."

Lovino looked as if he was about to faint with fright, but Gilbert had a firm grip on his wrist. "Ja, don't worry. I'm an _awesome _guardian. You'll be safe with me, kesesese!"

The group of three gathered in one corner while Francis loped up, a leering smile on his face. "Does that mean I get to come with _you_, amour?"

Arthur pushed him away, wiping his hands on his pants afterward. Who knew what sorts of diseases the Frog had from sleeping around? "Yeah, yeah, but don't dwell on it. If you get in my way, I'll bloody bowl you over."

Francis smirked. "I wouldn't mind that, cher. Although it seems to me by not sending me off you are starting to warm up to me~" He winked, though his face was a bit paler than before.

Arthur ignored that for the sake of reserving his punches for the rebels.

Yao joined them a moment later, his wok hefted in one hand and grimacing. "It's going to be long run to make it across to truck. I'll try best I can to keep you safe."

Arthur nodded. "Good, then. Though I doubt you'll have to do anything but just run." He turned to the other group, Lovino now trembling and Sadiq eyeing Yao evenly. "You guys will run out first and lure the mob away from us. With them thinking that you're the only ones that were in here, I'll be able to sneak out with my group and get the truck."

Sadiq broke his challenging gaze with Yao to raise an eyebrow. "And when we cannot run anymore?"

Arthur frowned. He hadn't thought of that. Perhaps his strategic mind had worn out over the years after all, though he didn't like to believe it. "Uh, right… loop around all the warehouses and get to the truck. I'll have it driven close enough for you to get on. I believe we can all fit on it if we try."

Lovino scoffed, finding his words, his voice still trembling. "Che, not with the Potato Bastard's big head…"

Gilbert frowned and gave Lovino's wrist a rough yank. "Did you just insult my awesomeness, Tomato-Eater?"

"N-no… oww, dammit, bastard, ease up!"

"Shh, Romano!" Francis hissed anxiously.

"He started it, dammit!"

"Shut it, will you?!" Arthur whispered harshly, assessing the approach of the mob through the windows. "Twenty meters and closing." He turned to Gilbert, Yao, and Lovino. "You'd better leave now before they can catch up."

"Bien sûr, ami." Francis muttered, motioning for the rest of his group to leave. "Go."

Gilbert exited first, pulling Lovino along with him, much to the excitement of the charging crowd. Yao went last, bullets ricocheting off of his wok as he effectively blocked the gunfire. Arthur straightened, surveying the rest of his group. Sadiq and of course… Francis. Well, this would certainly test his physical strength as well as his mental. He quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt, still splattered with Lennox's blood. He could practically feel Francis's eyes on him the whole time, but forced himself to ignore it. He looked the shirt over for a moment, wanting desperately to toss it because of the blood stain on it, but he eventually decided to keep it. After all, he may need it.

He tied the shirt around his waist, now clad in only his white undershirt, a pair of black slacks, and trainers. It was an odd sort of shoe wear, but he thanked God that he had chosen them instead of the more uncomfortable dress shoes. Surely those would have slowed him down.

Francis locked eyes with Arthur for a few seconds, a somber expression on his face. Confused, Arthur stared back, raising one large eyebrow. At last, he realized and nodded, Francis also dipping his head in turn.

This may be the last time they would ever safely talk to each other again.

He snorted. Yeah, like never talking again to Francis would bother him.

Arthur turned, gesturing for Francis and Sadiq to squat down behind the boxes. They all did just in time. The mob came, guns blazing and blades brandished around the corner and outside the warehouse. They all waited for them to pass by, then slowly got up. Sadiq darted over to the door and peeked out. He turned to them.

"Gone,"

"Let's go," Arthur said, sticking his head out of the door and looking both ways before deeming it all clear and broke into a run toward the truck.

He could hear the sound of shoe-clad feet clicking against the runway. Arthur didn't bother to look back, assured by the heavy breaths coming from behind him.

Arthur could clearly hear the mobs around the back of the buildings and on the hill beyond. By the sound of it, the closest mob was nearly three-quarters of the way around the warehouses. Arthur pushed himself, making himself run faster, blood roaring in his ears, his strength ebbing faster than ever before…

Soon he found himself gasping for breath, speed-walking the last few paces to the truck, placing a hand on the side, hunched over, breathing with difficulty. From the looks of it, Francis and Sadiq weren't faring so well either. Francis—who was unsurprisingly right behind him, no doubt wanting to get a good view of his backside—put his hands on his knees, gasping. Sadiq had locked his hands behind his head, pacing around and huffing.

Arthur could never remember being so tired. They were countries, not normal humans. They couldn't tire so easily after such a short time, just like they couldn't be killed by humans…

His heart lurched as he realized something, but before he could think more on it, Sadiq glanced behind him, his hand going to his sheathed kilij and said, "They're coming,"

"Oui, cher," Francis said. "We don't have much time."

Arthur straightened and said, "Right, I'll drive."

They all rushed to the truck, Arthur opening the door—"Oh, thank God, the keys are still in the ignition."—and buckled up, starting the truck just as Francis slid into the passenger seat.

"Turkey is in the back. Just in case the mob catches up, he'll defend the tank from bullets."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "With just his kilij?" The Turkish sword was pretty thin.

Francis shook his head. "He picked up a bit of scrap metal along the way. It looks strong enough to stop the rounds."

The Briton nodded and shifted gears. "All right, let's see how fast this thing can go…"

He pressed the gas, turning the truck around with jerky precision, not having driven a car since before the Uprising. Francis was thrown back in his seat with a cry, and Arthur thought he heard Turkish swears drifting from the back of the truck.

Arthur pulled them around to the front of the last warehouse, reversing so that the rest of his group could jump on and he could take off when they came around the corner.

The shouting got closer, and Arthur could feel his hands gripping the steering wheel more firmly, his palms covered in a nervous sweat.

Then, from his side mirror, he saw the rest of his group emerge; Lovino in the lead, Gilbert struggling to keep up with his frantic pace just behind, and Yao running backward with surprising speed, blocking bullets with his now dented wok.

Francis stuck his head out one of the windows and yelled, "Vite! Vite, amis! Get on the back!"

Arthur felt the truck dip a little with the new weight thrown onto the back, and Francis turned to him, nodding. "Allons-y, Angleterre."

Arthur faced forward and pressed on the gas just as the mob came around the corner and a few meters away, shooting and yelling with rage. "Here we go!"

And the truck shot off across the runway. Arthur didn't pay attention to the debris that littered the pavement as he went. All he was worried about was getting the hell out of there unscathed. It was only when Francis shouted, "Watch out!" that he knew he should have been paying better attention to what lay on the ground.

Arthur swerved sharply, barely missing the sharp bit of scrap metal that surely would have popped the truck's tires. Just as he was breathing a sigh of relief, though, a fierce uproar came from the back of the truck. But he didn't have time to stop and listen.

Finally, Francis stuck his head out of the window again. "What?" He was silent as he listened, the cries becoming more frantic as he did. Then he leaned back in and turned to Arthur with wide eyes, his face pale. "It's Romano… he's fallen off."

"What!" Arthur was so shocked that he slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone in the truck forward. There was a protesting din from the back where no doubt the others had hit their heads rather harshly on the fuel tank. Arthur ignored them and looked into his side mirror, uttering a yelp of horror as he saw Lovino lying sprawled on the ground, cursing and holding his injured shoulder. And behind him, the mob was gaining ground, weapons raised and ready to take a captive for survival.

* * *

Translations:  


Bien sûr-Of course

Vite-Quickly

Allons-y-Let's go

A Word From the Writer: Nu, Romano! He can run hella fast be he can't hold on for shit. What will happen to him? Who will save him? Why am I talking like some movie announcer?

Just ignore me and read on, my dears!


	18. Against the Clock II

**Prepare for tension overload.  
**

Warning: Angst, fight scene, weapons, insults from both America and Russia to each other, tension, threats, violence. You know, some actual, action-y stuff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Against the Clock II**

Alfred watched Arthur go, a lump forming in his throat as his brother disappeared off the crest of the hill. He quickly swallowed the feeling, looking up the slide as the others slid down and bounced off the end to stand beside him.

Ivan came down first, naturally, not to be outdone by his rival. He stood a few feet from Alfred, a step ahead of him, as if proving he was bolder. Alfred saw at a glance that Ivan had his pipe in hand. He turned to him, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Ivan sensed he was being watched and, without bothering to look at him, said, "Is something bothering you, comrade?"

"Yeah," Alfred replied. "Why not your gun?" Then Alfred frowned. "And don't call me 'comrade.'"

"You never think ahead." Ivan shook his head as the others slid down and joined them. "Bullets… I'd rather not waste them where we're going."

Alfred scoffed. "You just like to bash people's heads in and watch the blood splatter."

Ivan sighed. "Why am I always such a monster in your eyes?"

"Because that's what you are." Alfred replied coldly, cocking his handgun. "And I know how you are. I've been your rival for years, remember that."

"Please don't start a fight, Al. Not now." Matthew said, his rifle held tightly in his hands. "We need to focus. Be ready."

Alfred heaved a sigh and said, "Fine. But if that asshole decides to snipe at me one more time, I won't hesitate to confront him."

Ivan chuckled and Alfred started. Damn, the dude really did have the ears of a fox. "You may confront me whenever you please, Amerika. I can assure you that I am more than ready."

Matthew shook his head. "Not you too, Russia. Please don't be argumentative. Now is not the time."

Kiku nodded in agreement. "Yes, America-san. If England-san finds you two fighting, he will lecture you for hours."

They all groaned. All of them at some point in their lives had heard one of Arthur's infamous disciplinary rants. Sometimes they even went on for a couple of days.

"Agreed," Ludwig said, cocking his gun as well. Feliciano was standing beside him, shivering, gripping the German's hard shoulder with panic. "In order to survive, we need to work together. That means we must forget our differences." He broke off to murmur some comforting words to Feliciano.

Matthew stepped forward, daring to stand between Alfred and Ivan, saying, "Right, we're a team now. One for all and one for… pasta." He struggled to hold in a laugh.

Feliciano straightened up. "Pasta~!"

Alfred laughed under his breath. "Yeah, for pasta."

Ivan took out a flask from his coat and took a long swig from it. Alfred stared at him. "Can you aim well when you're drunk?"

Ivan chuckled as he put away the flask. "I don't get drunk." Then he quirked a smile. "But then again you're the one to know my aim is _always_ good."

Ludwig suddenly pried Feliciano off his arm and pushed the Italian behind him, aiming his gun. "They're coming,"

Ivan shifted slowly, not bothering to raise his pipe. "I know. I've been listening to them."

Alfred scoffed. "That's totally creepy, dude." And he raised his handgun. "Time to take these bastards down. They'll learn that they can't just use force to get what is already someone else's."

Ivan chuckled darkly. "Like country like citizens."

Alfred was about to make a scathing remarked when Matthew hissed, "Shh, you two!" and stepped forward to stand beside his brother, raising his rifle. He was surprised that everyone noticed him. "Focus, Al."

"I am, I am already, damn!" He glared daggers at Ivan and the Russian smiled amiably back at him.

"Ve… G-Germany?"

"Ja, Veneziano?"

"We're going to be leaving soon, right?"

"We'll see,"

Alfred's brow wrinkled. "Kiku?"

"Yes, America-san?"

"Are you sure you'll be all right with just your sword? This ain't like your old feudal days."

"Of course, America-san."

"And don't call me America-san, Kiku. There really is no need for formalities in this shithole world."

"It is my tradition, America-san."

"Whatever, just watch yourself, okay?"

Kiku said nothing else, his eyes never leaving the approaching crowd.

The mob was about ten yards away and closing. Many of them were taking out their guns and starting to aim. The first man took aim directly at Alfred, but was quickly shot down. Alfred's ears rang as he turned to see Matthew cocking his rifle again, a fresh shell still smoking at his feet.

"Get them before they get us…" the Canadian muttered, taking aim again and shooting down a man who was a fair distance away.

Ludwig began firing not long after, and Alfred quickly followed suit. Alfred focused on those in the front of the mob, shooting them down easily so that the others behind them stumbled over their bodies. Without having to be told, Ludwig took the left front while Alfred took the right. Matthew, meanwhile, took out all the ones in the back that looked as if their aim would prove true.

Finally, the few people that had managed to avoid any bullets—some had bits of scrap metal to protect themselves—or had survived the blows staggered forward, pulling out their weapons. One limped right toward Ivan, pausing just a few feet from him, raising a loaded semi-automatic. Alfred watched the man carefully out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to admit to himself that he would cover the Russian if need be. But that possibility was not likely. _That man's got some balls for taking on Russia… _he thought. He even had to admit that Ivan was a little scary.

But only a _little_.

As soon as the wounded man took aim, his finger twitching on the trigger, Ivan lunged forward, raising his pipe, the metal whistling through the air as it came down hard on the man's head, crushing his skull. Alfred watched with disbelief as blood shot from the man's nose and mouth and he crumpled to the ground. Ivan caught his eye, but quickly directed his attention to the approaching people.

As many times as Ivan had hit anybody with his pipe—Alfred included—he had never hit _that_ hard. And seeing as only countries could kill each other, that was a good thing… _But he's still a monster. _he thought grudgingly.

Alfred came to a sudden realization, but was brought back to reality by his brother nudging him in the ribs. "In front of you!"

"What?"

The man in front of him fired, and Alfred stepped to the side, hearing the bullet whiz by his head. Tembling a bit in shock, Alfred raised his own gun and shot the man through the head.

As with every kill he made, he knew he was shooting his own people down and it made him feel dizzy. Even though he knew he couldn't help the fact that they hated him, that didn't make gunning them down like wild animals any better.

Alfred had been so lost in his own thoughts, that he didn't notice that the full force of the mob had swept through them. He looked beside him, but Matthew was no longer there. Instead, his brother was standing on a boulder above the crowd a few yards away, shooting down anyone who came near him. Ludwig, meanwhile, had escorted Feliciano to the boulder on which Matthew was standing, and told him to climb on. The Italian did so, and Ludwig proceeded to turn around and defend the boulder along with Matthew. Kiku had disappeared in the mob, and Alfred's heart pounded as he looked around and found no trace of him. But when he spotted people flying backward from one area in the mob and blood shooting through the air like that of the cuts from a blade, Alfred knew he was alive and well. He watched as Kiku darted through the crowd, barely able to see him, but knowing where he was by the amounts of people that were slashed down in several areas.

And then there was Ivan… surely he had gone deeper into the crowd to bash more heads in for his own enjoyment? But Alfred was surprised to find that the Russian was still beside him, and had in fact moved a few feet toward him.

Alfred shot down a couple of people that were getting a little too close for comfort before looking curiously at him. Ivan noticed, and looked at him too before smacking a few more people down with his pipe and walking over.

"Coping well, comrade?" He smiled, his face and coat splattered with blood.

"Why would you care?"

"Why do you act so cold toward me? Our fight is over."

"Doesn't matter," Alfred snorted, shooting down a couple more people, his heart giving a painful lurch in the process. "I don't need your concern. You couldn't give two shits if I lived or died. Actually, I'm betting you'd celebrate if I was killed."

Ivan chuckled, shaking his head. Alfred growled as he downed another shooter. "What's so funny, bastard?"

"You're just so immature."

"What did you call me?"

"It's true," Ivan said, not minding to acknowledge the murderous glare Alfred was giving him. "You never forget past rivalries. Isn't that why you have so many enemies, Amerika? Maybe that's why you're having to shoot your own people down and suffer for every citizen you kill."

"Shut up, asshole."

"You know it's true. And I know what you're feeling. I've gone through it too. That's why I chose to die and not suppress my people's wishes by shooting them down like common criminals in the process, but, alas, I was brought here to endure your endless good company."

"You don't know me."

"I do. And you're selfish for not allowing your country to have a rebirth, for not dying with it, as your people wish, like the democracy you claim you have. If it weren't for me being captured and stuck on a plane bound for here, I would have let it happen." He turned to slam his pipe into the face of another approaching civilian, the man's face streaming with blood from his broken nose.

Alfred pointed his gun to the side of Ivan's head, cocking it. "Don't _ever _compare me to your vicious, tyrant ass ever again."

"And what would you do?" Ivan asked calmly, smiling, taking down another attacker with ease, as if having a gun pointed to his head was something that happened daily. "Would you kill me? You could. You could have chosen to do that very thing years ago when you came to gloat. But you didn't." He turned to look at Alfred, his violet eyes dark, the barrel of the gun still digging into his skull. "You _need _me, Amerika. That's what you've never been able to admit. And now I know why you do."

Alfred glared at him, determined not to blink, waiting for his answer. But Ivan simply turned around with an empty expression and continued to whack at incomers like they had not just had a very tense conversation. Confused and angry as hell, Alfred returned to shooting, his frustration chasing out his pain.

Kiku showed up at his side quicker than he could blink, peering up at him, his katana dripping with fresh blood, his face freckled with it. "America-san, the plane is secure. The rest are retreating."

So caught up in his rage, Alfred hadn't noticed that the hill was nearly empty. The survivors had clambered down, running back to the city, the others that remained were either injured or out-of-their-minds crazy. One man came running at Ludwig and was promptly shot through the head, stumbling back and collapsing to the ground in a piled heap. Behind him on the boulder, Feliciano whimpered and started crying hysterically. Matthew was trying to console him.

"Is good," Ivan said, examining the plane and the corpse-littered ground. "Let's keep a lookout for the rest, da?"

Everyone nodded except for Alfred, who was still angry about his fight with Ivan. "Already on it."

Ivan didn't bother to look at him, but his creepy, childlike smile had returned. He looked down, smashing his pipe onto the head of a still-moving body. "Very wise of you to take my advice, Amerika."

Alfred wanted to say more, but Kiku shook his head beside him. So, he resigned himself to sitting on the crest of the hill, eyes scanning the city, sitting as far away from Ivan as possible and trying not to think about what he had said. Yeah, right, the bastard knew him…

"Al?" Matthew asked. Alfred looked behind him where his brother had seated himself, rifle in his lap. "Are you okay? You have that look."

Alfred snorted. "What look, bro? I'm fine!"

Matthew's frown deepened. "That look you always have when you can't figure something out, when something's bothering you."

Alfred sighed. "Yeah, I'm worried about Iggy." he lied, though it was only a half-sided one.

Matthew raised an eyebrow, knowing there was more to it, but deciding it would be too much at the moment to go any further. Instead, he directed his attention to Ludwig, who was now trying to calm Feliciano down just a few yards away on the grass. "I am too. How the hell are we supposed to get out of here if he doesn't get that truck up the hill?"

"I dunno," Alfred huffed, wanting so much to light up a cigarette at the moment for his anxiety. His old addiction was catching up with him. "I just hope he gets here soon."

"Look!" Kiku's voice rang out from behind them, and they all turned to see him standing on the boulder, pointing. "The truck! Look, there!"

They turned and Alfred felt his heart lurch.

On the runway, very, very far away it seemed, sat the truck. A few people were seated in the back. A mob had surrounded it, but the vehicle still remained stationary.

Alfred quickly stood and called, "Arthur!" and ran forward, intending to run down the hill and help, but someone grabbed a tight hold of his arm and stopped him. Confused at how someone else could hold him back—as the only one who was as strong as him was Ivan—he peered back. Matthew looked desperately up at him, shaking his head quickly.

"No, Al, please stay here." Alfred was about to reply, but Matthew raised his rifle and pointed it at his leg. Alfred looked, horrified, at his twin. "If you don't stay," Matthew continued boldly, his voice trembling a bit. "I won't hesitate to hobble you. It won't kill you, but at least then I know you'll be safe."

Alfred continued to stare disbelievingly at him, then looked back at the runway. The truck had still not moved. He yanked his arm out of Matthew's grip, feeling betrayed. Matthew tried to say something, but Alfred growled, "Don't. I'll stay." Then he went silent, watching, hoping, praying that somehow Arthur and the others would make it out unharmed.

But then again, assessing the situation from where he could see it, that was slim chance.

He gasped, squinting his eyes, watching with horror as someone jumped out of the back of the truck and began fighting their way through the mob. _Please don't be Artie. _he thought desperately.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Muhahaha, looking for that next button? Too bad! Another cliffhanger! I'm sorry, but I'm really trying to pace myself, because my last fic I kinda slacked off and the chapters caught up with me and it was a lot of pressure to write a chapter in a week with everything going on with life and shit so... yeah, that was a lot of and's, but what the hell, you get it. XD


	19. Against the Clock III

**Where's a fishing pole when you need it? XD  
**

Warning: Angst, weapons, death threats, fight scene.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Against the Clock III**

"What!"

"Quickly, Angleterre!" Francis shouted over the din of the approaching crowd. "Reverse so that Romano can get back on!"

"But—!" Arthur tried to protest, but a prickly lump had suddenly formed in his throat. He was at a complete loss about what to do. Should he reverse and put the rest of his group in danger by having them so dangerously close to the mob? Or should he continue on and hope that Lovino would be quick enough to escape their vicious clutches? He didn't have to think upon both the options before making a decision.

No, he would not let Lovino die. They were in this together now, and they had to keep alive for the sake of their nations…. No matter how irksome the Italian may be at times.

All the while Arthur was thinking, Francis was staring at him, a look of incredulous horror on his face. "Qu'est-ce que vous faisez, ami? We can't just leave him!"

Arthur gave him a determined look and shifted gears fiercely. "No, we can't." It was the only thing he had ever agreed upon between him and Francis.

Before he could dwell on that disturbing fact, he pressed on the gas (gently this time) and reversed so that Lovino was a few feet away from the back wheels.

"France!" Arthur snapped. Francis turned, surprised by the fact that he was not being called his usual 'Frog.' "Lean out and tell the rest of them to get Romano. And quickly! We haven't got much time as it is." His eyes darted to his side mirror where he could see the mob gaining ground with terrifying speed.

"D'accord, Angleterre." And Francis leaned out of the window, crouching on his seat until half of his body was hanging out. "Hé! Hé! Amis! Get Romano! Vite!"

There were a few yells in response, and the truck shifted as it was relieved of at least one of its occupants. Arthur peered into the mirror and saw that it was Gilbert. He scoffed. "Well, _that's_ not surprising in the least."

"Prussia…" Francis muttered, peering out his mirror also. "Non, that's definitely not—" Then the Frenchman gripped his seat, fingers digging into the cushion. Arthur turned to him quizzically. Francis had completely blanched. "Prussia!" This was followed by a string of frantic French, spoken so fast and tremulously that Arthur couldn't decipher it.

"What is it?"

"Regardez-vous!" And he pointed to the mirror.

Arthur did and his stomach seemed to drop out. "Shit!"

The mob was swarming up past the back of the vehicle, and from where he sat, Arthur could see neither Lovino nor Gilbert. He unbuckled his seat belt, intending to leap out and run to their aid, but Francis threw an arm across his torso, pushing him back into his seat with surprising force.

When Arthur gave him a furious look, Francis shook his head quickly. "Non, Angleterre! It's too dangerous."

Arthur looked incredulously at him, then began to struggle out of his grasp. "I can handle it, dammit! It's not your choice to make. Let go of me!"

But Francis's grip was firm, and he even leaned over to wrap his arms around Arthur's shoulders and pulled him back. "I can't let you do that! We need a driver!"

Arthur continued to struggle. "But—Romano—is—_dying_!"

"You don't know that, ami." Francis said, not letting up. "Prussia may not be what he once was, but he's still strong. He won't let Romano die, I promise. Stay, _please_, Arthur!"

Arthur stopped jerking in his arms, in shock from hearing his name come from the Frenchman's mouth. He was still for a moment before he pushed Francis grudgingly off of him and sat back in his seat. "Don't touch me."

Francis sat back in his seat also, not seeming surprised. "Look, ami. Prussia is still alive, just like I told you."

Arthur's eyes darted to the side mirror and his heart sped up. When he had calmed down some, he turned to Francis, a smile on his face despite the severity of their predicament. "So it seems. An idiot, but brave idiot."

Gilbert continued to hold onto Lovino as the truck wound its way toward the hill. Beside him, Yao and Sadiq were arguing with each other over how many foes they had taken down in a fight.

"I am oldest nation. So I take down more enemies."

"Well, you may be an old-ass, but I was a congregation of tribes before I settled down. We looted and murdered in almost every city we came across."

"Ha! You'd be lucky to have conquered as many people as I have when you're always stuffing your fa—"

The truck suddenly swerved sharply. Sadiq cursed as his head bumped against the fuel tank. Beside him, Yao yelped, losing his grip and sliding over so that he was practically sitting in Sadiq's lap. Gilbert, meanwhile, also bumped his head, and was so caught up in dealing with his pain, that he hadn't noticed his grip had lightened on Lovino, who was sitting beside him, and felt a weight lift from his left side.

He heard the cry of pain before he even noticed that the Italian was no longer on the back of the truck, and Gilbert, alarmed, attempted to stand but was knocked back against the tank. He watched, heart pounding erratically as the truck sped off away from Lovino, the Italian currently howling and clutching his injured shoulder on the ground.

Beside him, Yao removed himself from Sadiq's lap and shouted, "What hap—?"

Gilbert pointed tremulously to where Lovino lay on the runway. "Romano!"

Sadiq nudged Yao and shouted to him, "Wave your hands, yell, do something to stop the British dumbass from driving away!"

Offended at being ordered around so rudely, Yao swallowed his anger and waved in the driver's side mirror. "Stop! Stop! He fell off!"

It took a few moments for the truck to come to a complete stop, and many more for the truck to back up. It sounded like a scuffle had taken place in the front of the vehicle between Francis and Arthur… and Arthur's voice tended to carry whenever he was angry or frustrated—which was quite often and a voice that most of them knew very well.

When they were a few feet away from Lovino, Gilbert jumped off the back, gathering the screaming Italian in his arms before looking up and finding himself in some serious shit.

The crowd was sweeping around them, weapons raised and ready. Soon, both Gilbert and Lovino were crouched in the thick of it, unsure of what to do. Gilbert wanted more than anything to try and make a quick escape, but Lovino had thoroughly latched onto his waist, hands locked and surprisingly strong. Gilbert frowned. This was the worst of times for Lovino to suddenly find his clingy strength. Heart pounding rapidly in his chest, the Prussian continued to crouch, at a complete loss about what to do.

Then a man close to them, brandishing a machete, said, "Stand, and stay where you are."

Gilbert did exactly that, dragging the whimpering mess of the Italian with him, looking around.

They all had their weapons raised and ready to strike, and they didn't look like they were about to just let them go peacefully. Gilbert's worst fears were confirmed when a man said, "You will agree to come with us or die trying to escape." Instantly he felt as if a vat of cold water had just been poured down his back.

Gilbert gathered himself and straightened, holding Lovino close to him so that the Italian no longer had a need to cling onto him protectively and the smaller nation let go. He looked at who seemed to be the leader: the one with the machete. "We will come quietly." He agreed, and bowed his head.

Lovino buried his face in the Prussian's chest and sobbed quite loudly. Gilbert could do nothing else for him but rub his back soothingly. It didn't seem to help much.

Around them, the crowd shifted, contemplating whether or not they should seize the vehicle also. A couple or yards so away, Yao and Sadiq looked horrified and conflicted.

"No," their leader snapped. "We'll leave 'em. If we're lucky, they'll go back to their pals on that hill and arrange a trade with us for these two."

"And what would that be for, Boss?"

"The plane of course, dumbass."

Gilbert stiffened at this. Lovino cried even harder into his shirt. If he didn't find a way to escape this crowd, there would be no way the others would survive… unless they were heartless assholes and decided to just leave them behind, which he was pretty sure Ludwig would not allow.

"Please," Gilbert begged. "Don't hurt us."

One of them scoffed. "Yeah, like your little friends up there on that hill aren't as violent as us."

"Ya see," the boss said, his machete twitching in his hand. "We all have needs, brother. It's not like we're doin' this out of enjoyment. In fact, it's quite a pain in the ass to lug two spineless twerps around for ransom. Really hinders our survival, if you know what I mean." He smirked.

"Of course, ja." Gilbert said, nodding enthusiastically and Lovino clung even tighter to his shirt as he spread his arms. "Take us. We won't struggle. Anything… please, just don't hurt us."

A man with a sawed-off shotgun nearby leered. "Heh, we'll try."

Two burly-looking men came up with a length of rope, intending to tie them off. With violent force they tried to jerk them apart, but Lovino gave a sharp cry and refused to let go.

"Damn bitch," one of the men growled as he tried to pry the Italian's fingers from Gilbert's now tear-soaked shirt. "Won't let go."

Gilbert pulled Lovino to him, and for a moment, the Italian ceased crying and just hiccuped. "Nein, he stays with me." When they all looked at him quizzically, he elaborated: "He's got some… mental disabilities."

Lovino broke in his sobbing to land a hard punch to Gilbert's ribs that caught him off guard. He coughed a little, turning it into a laugh. "Little guy can't be parted from me, see?" Gilbert laughed breathlessly.

The men gave each other suspicious looks, but shrugged and tied them both together. When one man was tightening the knot and looking absentmindedly at the other, chatting quietly, Gilbert slyly slipped in a finger.

"All right," huffed the man. "Ya know where to take 'em." Then he turned to them both and smiled wickedly. "We'll ensure ya have a… comfortable journey."

Gilbert had to suppress the urge to kick the man straight in his potatoes and instead forced a smile. "Thank you. Thanks very much, sir." The 'sir' part was hard to manage and he ended up squeaking it out in effort to hide his rage.

"Off ya go, then. We'll make sure to get the word to your buddies about our deal."

The crowd parted to make way for them, Lovino being forced to walk beside Gilbert, now in hysterics.

Did he really believe that Gilbert would just give up like that? This was just tactics… and being a rather war-fond ex-nation, the albino knew all the tricks and sweet-talk he would need to catch the mob by surprise.

When they were nearly at the end of the mob and the way was clear, Gilbert turned to those guiding him and said, "I'll just try to explain what we're doing." And he bent down to talk to Lovino.

The Italian looked a right mess. His face was pale so that his puffy red eyes stood out immensely. His nose was running (_Great, now I have the shit all over my shirt…_) and tears were rolling down his face every time he blinked.

"Romano," Gilbert whispered, but Lovino was crying too hard to hear. "Romano!" he hissed louder, and finally the Italian peered up at him with wide, green eyes. It took a moment for Gilbert to find his words, for Lovino's gaze was like a child's looking to an adult for help. "Listen to me, okay? I think I can untie us."

"_Think_," It was more a squeak than a question.

"All right, I _know._" Gilbert sighed, then continued, "But I need you to run as soon as I do."

"Where?" It was a wonder the man was still in a comprehensible state.

"I'll punch a few guys out so that you can get back to the truck. But I need you to be ready… and fast, okay?"

"… si…"

"Don't be scared now, ja?"

Lovino whimpered and dug his fingers deeper into the folds of his shirt, shaking his head.

Gilbert wished he could offer more encouragement, but his hands were tied, so he settled for pressing closer to the frightened Italian. "There's no need to be scared. I'll do all the work. All you have to do is run. I'm too awesome to get caught, so don't worry about me."

Lovino looked up at him again, giving him an eat-shit look that clearly said 'I don't care if your sorry ass is caught', but Gilbert took it as a 'yes.'

It took a moment, for Lovino to let go of him, almost as if he was hesitant to leave him, which wasn't very surprising seeing as Gilbert was his only source of protection. As soon as he did, though, Gilbert wriggled his thumb through the knot, and the ropes tumbled off of them to form a useless pile at their feet.

The crowd seemed to stop breathing for a moment in which Gilbert muttered, "Run."

And Lovino did. Fast. Gilbert had to admit he was impressed by how quick the Italian could move.

Then again, he was scared for his life.

But there was no need. For as soon as Gilbert was free of the ropes, he punched the two guards behind him in the face, allowing Lovino a clear path to the truck. He watched him go, his gut twisting with anxiety, but he couldn't watch to see if Lovino made it to the truck for very long, as the two men behind him had recovered and were now cursing and brandishing their weapons at him menacingly.

"Shit-eating motherfucker!" one of the men growled, trying to staunch his bloody broken nose. "Now you've done it!"

"We'll kill you _and _all your fuckin' friends!"

The boss stood off to the side, not involving himself in the fight that was erupting, but smiling in perverse amusement. "We tried to convince you through peaceful means. Now you'll die."

"Ha! Peaceful means?" Gilbert growled, kicking a charging man in the shin and punching his friend twice in the shoulder, dislocating it and toppling the man to the ground. "Since when did weapons pointed at newcomers signal a peaceful agreement?"

He turned to swipe at an oncoming attacker, striking him square in the chest. The man fell to the ground with a thud, and Gilbert yelped as he felt the scabs on his back rip open, hot blood trailing its way down his spine.

The distraction of his wounds was enough to get him a hefty knock to the shoulder. He stumbled back, regaining his balance and striking out at a couple more men, thoroughly bowling them over in his attempt to reach the truck. To his utter relief, Lovino had already clambered on, now clinging to Sadiq, the Turkish man trying his hardest to shake him off his arm.

Gilbert ran the short distance between him and the truck, guns going off behind him. Bullets whizzed by his head as he vaulted over the last few men in his way, knocking them down in the process, and leapt onto the truck.

The Prussian had barely secured himself on the truck, when Yao waved back at Arthur, yelling, "Go! Go! We got them!"

Immediately, the truck sped off, this time not swerving so sharply, bullets chinking off the tank and strips of scrap metal Sadiq had. Gilbert let out a rough "Oof!" as Lovino ducked some bullets and wrapped his arms around his waist, squeezing so tightly, Gilbert thought he would burst.

"Easy, Romano…" he muttered, trying to pry the Italian's vicelike hands off of him.

But it was a hopeless effort.

* * *

Translations:  


Qu'est-ce vous faisez?-What are you doing?

D'accord-Okay

Hé!-Hey!

Regardez-vous!-Look!

A Word From the Writer: Romano Mode=Locked. I don't think he'll be letting go of Prussia any time soon. I bet he would make a very stylish (if not bitchy) belt. _That's_ designer Italian leather, my friends. XD


	20. Against the Clock IV

**The hills have eyes... Maybe not literally, but pretty damn close.  
**

Warning: Angst, tension, suspense, innuendo... that's pretty much it.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Against the Clock IV**

Ivan watched the scene below with intrigue. He recognized that pale complexion and those cocky movements anywhere.

"Is Prussia," he identified.

Alfred flinched and looked at him as if he had grown three heads. "How the fucking _hell _do you see that?!"

Ivan smirked, not bothering to return Alfred's look. "Heh, I pay attention. Besides, are you not the one with glasses?"

Matthew's small and astonished voice floated to him from his place beside Alfred. "And is that… Romano?"

"What!" Feliciano's scream echoed as he rushed forward to look, Ludwig right behind him. As soon as he saw what was going on, he began crying. "No! Lovi!"

Ludwig peered around the Italian, his hold tightening on Feliciano. "Hmph, East. Of course. The dummkopf's finally got himself trapped."

"Ve! Will he g-get out of there, G-Germany?"

"I hope so, Italy."

Ivan scoffed, and they all flashed him scathing looks. "I wouldn't be surprised if he escaped. Bastard gave me the slip a few times when I had him. Actually sent me on the hunt for nearly two days once. Heh," Ivan chuckled. "But he never made it over the wall."

He thought he could hear Ludwig let out a growl, but Ivan ignored him.

"Holy shit!" Alfred said in disbelief. "They're tying them up!"

"Ve… what's Lovi doing?"

Ivan scoffed. "Crying, of course."

Alfred was about to flash an insult at Ivan, when Kiku came between them and muttered, "America-san, Russia-san, please don't argue. You will make it worse."

"He's right, Al." Matthew agreed when Alfred was about to retort. "Just leave it."

Alfred mumbled to himself irately, but said nothing, all of them now watching the action below with bated breath.

"They're taking them away!" Feliciano cried into Ludwig's shirt.

"Wait," Kiku said, squinting. "He placed his thumb in the knot."

Alfred flashed him a disbelieving look. "How can you s…?"

Kiku smiled. "You forget I have skills of a samurai."

Alfred snorted, and said nothing more.

Ivan watched with a blank expression. He was everything but concerned about Gilbert and Lovino's situation—if anything, he was more bored. It was about time something happened… like one of the fierce escapes he knew Gilbert was so good at.

Then, "He moved his thumb—the knot is loose." Kiku reported as if he had binoculars.

Alfred leaned forward, squinting as though he expected to see if he made his line of vision even narrower. Ivan snorted in amusement.

"Oh… look! He's got free… damn, and he's kicking _ass_." Not as good as Alfred himself of course, but still pretty damn impressive.

Ludwig scoffed. "Only because he's been so lazy ever since he became an ex-nation that he's reserved his strength…"

Feliciano straightened and sniffed before crying out, "Ve! Lovi is on the truck!"

"Of course he is," Alfred replied. "He ran fast enough."

Matthew flinched beside Alfred as gunshots rang out below them. "Shit… they've started shooting."

Ludwig stiffened. "Come on, bruder, actually _live up _to your awesome ramblings…"

A few tense, silent moments passed before they all sighed in relief, the truck set trundling up toward the hills again, the mob being quickly outstripped by its speed.

"C'mon, Artie." Alfred mumbled, suddenly quite restless. Ivan watched with annoyance as he began to pace atop the crest of the hill. "Put the pedal to the metal, man."

"They're almost here." Matthew muttered. "You should go and prepare the fuel tank, Al."

"Yeah, right. I'll do that." Alfred said hesitantly, not taking his eyes off the truck as he turned, as if expecting something bad to happen when he wasn't watching.

"Hurry!" Matthew hissed, and Alfred gave him an insulted look before leaving.

Kiku sighed, not bothering to look at the Canadian. "You are on bad terms with him."

"I know." Matthew huffed, running a hand through his blond locks. "But I have no choice but to be firm with him at times, no matter how much he might hate me for it in the future. You know how he is."

Kiku nodded. "Yes. America-san can be stubborn—"—Ivan laughed at this… 'at times'?—"But it is important for you to make up. We do not know how long we may live these days."

Matthew bowed his head. "Yeah… I should probably appreciate his presence more, no matter how exceedingly annoying he is…"

"You lost Cuba, I've heard?"

Ivan pulled his attention from the truck to listen to Matthew and Kiku's conversation.

Matthew stiffened and felt his heart sink. "You've heard right, then. His country was one of the first to fall… you know, communist streak and all that. Thought he needed nobody's help in order to right himself. I tried to warn him, but…" Matthew's eyes grew wet and he felt a tingling sensation in his throat, as if a sob was wanting to escape. But the Canadian faked a cough to expel the feeling and blinked back his tears. "Carlos was a very firm man when it came to dealing with other countries who did not think the same as him, especially when it came to Al. If Alfred had ever known Carlos and I were dating, Cuba would have been but a big black spot on the face of the Earth, I can assure you." He laughed a bit in spite of himself. "But despite his faults, Carlos was a very good man… Alfred just never took the time to realize that."

He sniffed softly, and Kiku fell silent, allowing the Canadian time to cope with his grief and feeling guilty for even bringing it up.

Ivan thought back to when he last saw his sisters, and he felt his insides twist with suppressed sorrow. He had never really had time to mourn Katyusha and Natalya, as he had had to deal with his own country at the time. Now, he found whenever he thought of them, he felt sadder than he had felt in a long while. Sure Katyusha had left him for the EU and Natalya was completely terrifying, but he still missed them… therefore, he redirected his attention to the truck, which was currently making its way up the steep hill.

Finally, the truck heaved its way to the top of the hill and zoomed between them, stopping under the fuel tank. Arthur immediately jumped out, helping Alfred hook up the hose nozzle to the truck's tank. Francis then exited the truck himself in order to supervise the filling of the tank. Sadiq and Yao leapt off the back of the truck to stand at the ready on the crest of the hill while Gilbert joined his brother, Lovino still clinging to his arm.

"That was a close call there, East." Ludwig said with a smirk.

"Ve, Lovi!" Feliciano cried, hugging his brother who was still thoroughly attached to Gilbert.

"Get off of me, stupid bastard." Lovino growled, still in shock.

"Well," Gilbert said, chuckling. "At least we know he's still the same."

Ludwig pulled his hand from around his brother's shoulders and examined his fingers which were dripping with blood. "Uh… bruder, did your cuts reopen?"

Gilbert looked a bit embarrassed and scratched the back of his head. "Kesesese, I guess they did, then. But really… it's no big deal…"

Ludwig gave him a concerned look and was about to respond, when Kiku yelled, "They are at the base of the hill!"

"Everybody, back on the plane!" Arthur shouted from his place standing in the bed of the truck, straddling the hose. "And Russia, pop that damn slide!"

Ivan scowled, hating being ordered around but nonetheless walked over to said slide, produced his pickaxe from his coat and slashed at the slide, more violently than need be. Hell, he needed to take out his rage on _something_.

The slide deflated very fast for being so big—as Ivan had ripped the whole bottom out. Afterward, he shouted, "How the hell are we going to get back in, hm?"

"The cockpit ladder!" He was surprised when Alfred answered him. The American was clambering down the rungs of it, letting go a few feet up from the ground and landing on his feet. He gestured to the ladder. "C'mon, who's first?"

"You, obviously, idiot." Arthur said with annoyance. The Brit was now standing on the extendable ladder, flicking switches and pushing buttons on the fuel tank. "You're our pilot."

"I'm not getting in before Mattie."

Matthew sighed, slinging his gun back over his shoulder and walking toward the ladder, shaking his head. "Al, why do you always think I'm going to hurt myself when you're not looking after me? I made it all this way just fine."

Alfred shook his head. "No. I don't care if you scaled Everest and are still alive, you're getting in this plane and will stay there as long as we are on the ground and this mob is still around!"

Matthew flashed him an annoyed glare and commenced climbing the ladder into the cockpit. Alfred did not move until Matthew disappeared into the cockpit. Then he turned to Ludwig. "Pass over the Italy brothers. They've been through more danger than in their whole lives today."

Feliciano quickly clambered up the ladder along with Lovino, who looked as though he was being chased by a pack of wild dogs.

Alfred then eyed Kiku. "You next, Kik."

Kiku frowned at the nickname, but proceeded up into the cockpit.

"France?"

"I am afraid I cannot, mon ami. I am busy helping England at the moment~"

"Get the hell away from me, Frog! I don't need your help—and you're not doing anything anyway but staring at my bum!"

"Why must you be so cruel, amour? … Though you are partly correct with my current view, honhon~"

Alfred's eyes shifted to Turkey. "Turkey?"

Sadiq shook his head. "Not until the Chinese bastard does."

"What you call me, báichī?"

Alfred turned to Ludwig. "Germany?"

Ludwig sighed. "Ja, well, I guess I should see how the Italies are doing." And he began to clamber up the ladder, turning back and shouting, "East! Get your arsch over here!"

Gilbert looked defiantly at him. "I can help defend the truck, bruder! Surely you must have noticed my awesome display of strength down there on the runway?"

"Your back doesn't look like it could handle much more. Get up here, _now_."

And with that, Gilbert quickly made his way over to the ladder, climbing up with haste.

Ivan knew who was next, and he nearly laughed aloud when Alfred hesitated.

"Russia?"

Ivan turned to him, his creepy, childlike smile on his face. He just wanted to see Alfred's frightened reaction. "Da, Amerika?"

Alfred swallowed, but retained his stoic stance. "Y-you're next up the ladder."

Ivan considered for a moment. "Nyet, I think I will stay down here until they are done." He indicated Arthur and Francis.

Alfred growled with frustration. "Everyone has to get on. So… Turkey, China, why don't you both climb the ladder together?"

Yao scoffed. "So that Turkish bastard could jump down after I get in? No way in hell!"

Alfred sighed. "Fine then. But when that mob shows up and you're not on board, I'm leaving your sorry asses behind!" Fuming, he clambered up the ladder.

Ivan scoffed and rolled his eyes. Alfred was such a child, trying to control everything.

Meanwhile, Yao shouted, "They're at the base of hill!"

"Done!" Arthur declared, Francis helping him detach the nozzle, much to his displeasure. After he had recoiled the rope, he stood, hands on his hips and shouted, "No more of this nonsense! Everyone up that ladder in the next few minutes or you'll be a feast for the mob!"

Ivan did not like being ordered around, but he obeyed nonetheless, giving Arthur a don't-try-that-shit-with-me-again smile as he climbed. He thought he heard Arthur swallow and cough shakily before he entered the cockpit.

Alfred was sitting in the Captain's seat, his back to him, fiddling with the knobs and checking the controls and air pressure. Ivan knew Alfred heard him coming up, as the American had stiffened a bit, but he was utterly ignored. Ivan slid open the cockpit door and stepped into the cabin, taking up his usual seat by the window and examining the scene below.

Arthur looked as if he were ordering Francis to go up as well, but the Frenchman was refusing, his arms crossed. Exasperated, Arthur turned to Sadiq and Yao, both of whom were glaring at each other, no doubt daring the other to go up first to prove their cowardice. But Arthur eventually convinced them to go up the ladder. They both went up at the same time, watching each other closely to see if one of them would drop down at the last minute. But they made it all the way up without a snag… and looked grudgingly out of their windows when they took their seats.

Francis and Arthur argued for half a minute or so before Francis went up the ladder and Arthur followed after.

Once Francis found his seat and Arthur situated himself in the co-pilot chair, Arthur said rather loudly, "Right-o, lad. Ready for takeoff. And please be careful. I didn't just risk my neck for nothing."

"_We_, amour!" Francis reminded.

"Shut up, Frog. He has to concentrate!"

"I suggest," Ivan cut in, observing the crowd below. They had just gathered on the crest of the hill, congregating around where the cockpit ladder had been pulled up. "we leave now."

"Okay, okay!" Alfred said, starting the engine and trundling across the length of the hill, which was quite big. "I'm goin', don't rush me!" Then the plane gave a little jerk followed by an amused muttering.

Arthur's anxious voice floated up from the cockpit. "I don't care if the cloud looked like a penis, Alfred, just focus on getting us into the air!"

Francis shifted in his seat a couple rows behind Ivan, mildly interested. "Good eye, amant! When this is over, we should go cloud-watching together."

"Shut it, Frog, or I'll punch out _both _of your eyes! I'm sure it would do everyone else a favor!"

* * *

Translations:  


Dummkopf-Fool

Báichī-Idiot

Amant-Lover

A Word From the Writer: Alfred: Let's fly into the giant penis, Artie!

Arthur: That's bollocks!

Alfred: Uh, I'm pretty damn sure that's a penis, bro.

Oh I couldn't help including some sort of innuendo. That and I have seen a cloud in the shape of a penis before. With bollocks and everything! Next I'll be looking for one in the stars. I'll name the constellation "Arthur Kirkland" just so France can say he's seen England's dick. Oh would that Hetalia was real *sigh*

Ta for now!


	21. Canada in Charge! Who?

**Canada finally got his wish~!  
**

Warning: Swearing, tension, angst. I'm just a crazy fanfiction writer who keeps Pirate England locked in my closet.

Just in case you're wondering why Arthur _really _gave up pirating…

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA.

* * *

**Canada in Charge! ... Who?  
**

"You could have chosen a less conspicuous spot!"

"I'm sorry, Igs, but there weren't many options available!"

Arthur sighed. They were getting nowhere. When they had flown over Yellowstone, Arthur expected there would be a multitude of places there may be to land… unfortunately, Alfred chose an open field near the beginning of the park as a runway strip.

"Well," Arthur growled, surveying his surroundings. There was nothing but trees for what looked like miles, and then a thin strip of mountain peeked above the treetops in the distance. "We're just going to have to get as far away from this place as possible."

Alfred pouted. "Aww, c'mon, Artie. We just got here and it wouldn't hurt if we made camp here for just one night?"

"No!" Arthur snapped. "It's too risky. Who knows how many people we've already attracted? For all we know they might have followed the plane."

"Ja," Ludwig agreed, gathering his belongings, Feliciano fluttering close by. "We need to get out of here as quick as possible." He threw his backpack strap over one arm and proceeded to the head of the group. "All right. Who here knows their way through a forest?"

There was a few moment's silence before Matthew hesitantly raised his hand. Now, instead of ignoring him like they usually did, he was acknowledged immediately.

"Come here, then."

Matthew did so, slightly uncomfortable under everyone's gazes.

"You, Canada, will lead us to a spot you find suitable and safe for the night. Let's head off." Ludwig said, nodding to him.

They all waited for Matthew to go. Matthew swallowed dryly and tried to ignore the fact that everyone was counting on him to survive now. He eventually straightened, rifle at the ready in his hands and said a bit more loudly than normal, "Okay, everyone. Follow me."

"Stop!"

Matthew was getting the hang of this. Everyone immediately stopped behind him, and he could hear guns cocking as if fearing they were being pursued. He knelt down, running his hand through the soil. He moved it around in his fingers for a moment before concluding, "It's moist. There's a source of water nearby. We can follow that." He stood, wiping off his hands on his jeans before saying, "All right. Water is a life-saving resource for us, but that also means that it is essential for other creatures. There may be many animals living around here, big and small, harmless and dangerous. So have your guns at the ready and be alert. Make sure to tell me if you see or hear anything suspicious. Let's continue."

He led them on until the soil began getting moister, eventually forming into mud. He faintly heard the trickle of a stream nearby. He carried on for a few more minutes, the sun now hanging low over the treetops. Satisfied, he stopped and turned. "Okay. We'll settle here for the night. Now before we do, there are a couple of things we must remember—wait." He'd just saw something out of the corner of his eye. He bent down, examining what he concluded to be animal droppings. He touched it and pulled it apart, revealing the bones of some large animal. Well… large enough to be prey for only one type of predator. It was warm. He wiped his hands on his pants and turned around to face them. His brother and Lovino had disgusted looks on their faces, but he ignored them.

"Well," he said. "It seems that this spot is already someone else's territory."

Lovino jumped, looking around warily. "Someone's following us? Where? The Syrup Bastard led us into a trap!"

"No!" Matthew shouted in his scary voice, making everyone jump. "No, Romano. No one's been following us. Not any human, anyway. It looks as if this territory belongs to a bear, and a rather hungry one at that. I'd say it was a grizzly and from the looks of things, it's rather small. Thank God we're in the territory of a youngling. If it were a full-grown male or a female with cubs, we could be in real trouble."

"So you led us into bear territory?" Gilbert asked, miffed.

"No," Matthew said slowly, as if talking to a child. "I led you into the forest, where it is going to be undoubtedly full of many animals. And as animals were here long before we were, they have probably established territories covering almost _all _of this forest."

"Then… where will we sleep safely?" Feliciano asked, frightened.

Matthew took a few steps in every direction, sniffing before answering, "It doesn't smell as if the bear's marked any trees or scrub over here. That way," He indicated a clump of trees in the opposite way of the stream. "is our safest bet."

"But," Alfred asked. "What about the water?"

"We'll find a spot close enough to it, I promise. But I'd rather not have to cross through a bear's territory in order to reach it." And with that, he led them off into the trees.

Matthew stuck close to the stream, listening to hear if they were getting too far away from it or not. Finally, he stopped in a clearing by a small thicket and, after checking thoroughly this time, said, "Okay, then. This looks good enough. We'll stay here."

Everyone gave sighs of relief, exhausted after a couple hours of walking without rest through the thick underbrush. They started to unpack, laying out sleeping bags, weapons, and ammo.

"Well," Arthur said standing and rubbing his hands together to wipe off the dust. "This isn't so bad…"

"Says you." Alfred grumbled, now sitting on his sleeping bag. "Now we have to sort out how we're gonna get food and make a fire…"

"Since you're complaining, Al." Matthew snapped. "Why don't you go and collect some firewood?"

Alfred stared incredulously at him for a moment before getting up and starting off into the woods, grumbling irately under his breath. "Stay close to the camp!" Matthew called after him. "And make sure to pick out ones that aren't wet or fresh, they'll be much easier to burn!"

Alfred didn't say anything, didn't even turn around, flipping Matthew off before he disappeared into a clump of bushes.

Matthew sighed and shook his head before saying, "All right. Some ground rules must be set for your own safety. Never wander over a mile away from the camp. If you have food, give it to me to string up in the trees. Don't use your guns unless it's an emergency, we don't want to attract anything or anyone that may also be here in this part of the forest. When you're hunting, use my crossbow and please remember to retrieve all the arrows you use and bring them back to me for cleaning. Report to me before going out so that I can tell you whether where you're going is safe or not. We also need to establish water-collectors, firewood-collectors, hunters, and foragers. Again, anyone on any of those things _must _report to me so that I can confirm that what you've retrieved is edible or usable. We will all take turns guarding the campsite—I suggest we do it in pairs in case some people get drowsy. Please try not to be loud. We don't want to attract anything. And if we do, please don't shoot unless it tries to attack you. If it's just sniffing around, fetch me and I'll try to scare it away. If all else fails and the animal returns the next day, we'll have to move camp. I don't want to take any risks here. And, oh, also remember that whenever you're going out somewhere to travel in pairs and take a flare with you."

"A flare?" Sadiq asked, embarrassed at not thinking to pack his own.

"Yes, a flare." Matthew said, trying not to look too pleased at the fact that everyone was looking at him with impressed expressions. "Just be sure not to light it off when you're in a dense, forested area—a clearing would do, or a field. But if you're in trouble or somehow can't get back, a flare is what you will use to alert us. There will be someone positioned in the camp as a guard and sky-watcher. They'll see your flare and notify me.

"Now… does anyone have any questions about what I've just said?"

"I do."

Matthew turned to see Alfred walking into the camp with a clump of sticks in his arms. He threw them down in the center of the clearing grouchily. "When're we gonna eat?"

* * *

Matthew had split the group up into firewood-collectors (Alfred and Francis), water-collectors (Gilbert and Lovino), hunters (Yao and Ivan), and foragers (Ludwig and Feliciano). The rest of the group, comprising of himself, Kiku, Sadiq, and Arthur all remained within the camp to keep watch and prepare the clearing for human habitation. Currently, Matthew was stringing up all the food in the camp in sacks he'd brought tied to tree branches, Kiku was digging a pit for a fire with a shell he'd brought with him, Sadiq was guarding the camp and watching the sky, and Arthur was…

Matthew blinked down at the man. "England, what _are_ you doing?"

Arthur paused, stick in hand, from drawing a circle around the entirety of the campsite, looking up with an innocent expression. "I'm making a Spirit Circle. This will keep all the bad entities out of the camp." When Matthew continued to stare at him in disbelief, Arthur, disgruntled, said, "Shall I continue?"

"Uh…" Matthew replied. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead." And he returned to his work. Surely it wouldn't harm them if Arthur doodled in the dirt…

_Well, _Matthew mused. _At least he's occupied._

"… away from me, bastard!"

Matthew nearly fell out of the tree he was sitting in as the angry voice boomed across the clearing.

A moment later, Lovino came stomping into the camp, fuming. Gilbert ran in after him, water slopping all over the ground from the canteens he was so carelessly holding.

"Aw, Romano, I was only having fun."

"Shut the fuck up, dammit!"

"_What_," Matthew slid down the trunk and walked toward them. "is going on here?" He was about to scold them for being loud, but examined Lovino first. "Uh, Romano… why are you all wet?"

Lovino folded his arms and scowled, pointing accusingly at Gilbert. "It was the Potato Bastard's fault! The fucker pushed me in the stream when I was getting water."

Matthew looked at Gilbert, miffed. "_Why_?"

Gilbert smiled, seemingly unaware of the trouble he was in. "Because I said I was so awesome I could swim the stream to the ocean! And then _he _said I wasn't. So I said 'Are you jealous because you can't swim as good as I can?' and he said 'No' and then—"

"And then he fucking pushed me into the water!" Lovino growled.

Gilbert laughed. "He flailed like a fish! Kesesese!"

Matthew sighed. "Okay, there are two problems with this scenario. One: a stream can't lead all the way to the ocean, especially not in Montana. Two: what did I just tell you about being loud in this camp?" Now he was the one who was mad.

Lovino was red-faced. "Che, I'm pairing up with someone else. I'm tired of this bastard hanging around me like a gnat! For all I care, you can send him packing, because he's totally useless unless he's talking about himself, dammit!"

Matthew looked from Lovino to the laughing Gilbert and shook his head. "Nope. I'm sorry, Romano, but you're just going to have to cope."

"What?!"

"Yay, more fun for the awesome me, kesesese!"

"Because both you and Prussia aren't adept at foraging unless you're with someone like Germany—"

"Then let me go with the Potato Bastard!"

"And let both you _and_ Germany worry over your brother and get in a fight? No, I think not. And since Prussia's too loud for hunting and too cocky to go off looking for firewood, you two will just have to set aside your differences and work things out."

"What!"

"Kesesese!"

"Here's some advice." Matthew added, heading back to his tree. "Romano, ignore whatever Prussia says about himself or you or anybody else for that matter and just focus on getting water. Don't let him out of your sight at _all times_, not even when you're getting water. And Prussia," Matthew turned to him, thinking for a moment before concluding, "You can deal with Romano's insults just fine. However, I know I can't convince you not to talk about yourself or play tricks on Romano or anybody else."

"You know it! Kesese!"

"But I _can _warn you. If you cause a commotion in the camp like this again, I won't hesitate to punish you."

Gilbert laughed louder. "Punish me? Kesesese! Oh, that's rich! How, put me in time out?"

"No," Matthew said, his eyes narrowed. "But I _will _arrange for Russia to carry it out. And I'm privy to new ideas any day. Whatever Russia has planned, I'm sure I'll agree to, violent or no."

With that, Gilbert clamped his mouth shut, his face going pale. Lovino smirked at his reaction.

Matthew looked at the canteens in Gilbert's arms and sighed. "Go collect some more water. You've slopped most of it around the camp and onto yourselves." Matthew climbed up the tree and perched in the branch he was sitting in before. "And if I hear you've caused trouble again, I won't hesitate to fetch Russia."

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Oh lordy, it's a camping _nightmare._ XD

Onward!


	22. Concerning Moths and Lanterns

**A new character shows up!  
**

Warning: Angst, tension, innuendo, and an OC.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Concerning Moths and Lanterns**

Ivan squatted in the brush, peering up at Yao from below. "Do you see anything, Yao-Yao?"

Yao shuddered at the disturbing nickname and whispered from the tree he was sitting in, "Yes, I see rabbit. To your left. In grass."

Ivan peered around the bush he was nestled behind and scanned his eyes across the area. Before long, he spotted the rabbit, sitting in a patch of grass, nibbling lazily. "Da, I see it. I'm taking aim." And he lifted the crossbow to his shoulder.

Just before he shot, though, Ivan sneezed, and the rabbit, alerted, hopped off into the brush.

"Дерьмо," Ivan swore, getting to his feet.

Yao jumped down from tree he was in. "You sneezed, Russia."

"I know, Yao-Yao." Ivan replied somewhat dangerously.

Yao shrunk back a little. "Maybe someone is talking about you?"

Ivan chuckled, making Yao back away a little more. "Da, but I have a feeling the only time I'm brought up in conversation is one in which something violent is involved…" His eyes drifted accusingly to Yao.

Yao stepped back so that he was a few feet away. "Uh… w-why don't we go to stream? We could catch fish there if try."

Ivan slung the crossbow over his back and said, "Da, that sounds good, Yao-Yao… You lead."

And Ivan laughed as Yao hesitantly took the lead, throwing fearful looks over his shoulder at him until they finally reached the water.

* * *

Ludwig picked his way through the foliage, bag in hand, already halfway full of berries. He hadn't heard from Feliciano for a while, and he looked back, worried he'd lost the bubble-headed Italian.

Then: "Germany! G-Germany! Where are you, Germany? You left me! Ve!"

"I'm right here, you idiot."

"Oh," Feliciano said as he popped out beside him. "Oh… hi Germany!"

Ludwig rolled his eyes, snatching Feliciano's sack of berries and peered inside. "What did you get?"

"Ummm…."

"Verdammt, Italy!" Ludwig chastised. "What did I tell you about eating the berries? This is supposed to be for the whole camp!"

"Ve~But they're yummy, Germany!"

"And I haven't checked to see if they're poisonous yet!"

"Berries will… _kill _me?" Feliciano looked as if he was about to cry.

Ludwig sighed. "Ja, idiot, but you look like you're perfectly fine. Just let me check them next time, okay?"

"… Okay, Germany."

"Good," Ludwig replied, pointing over to a clump of bushes next to him. "You pick from those over there, I'll pick from here."

"Okey-dokey, Germany, sir!"

"Oy…"

After a few minutes, Ludwig collected all he could from his bush, and turned to see if Feliciano was done. "Italy, have you—? Mein Gott, Italy!"

Feliciano had been about to pop a red berry into his mouth before Ludwig seized his wrist and plucked the berry from his palm, examining it. He sighed. "Italy, do you know what this is?"

"Ve… A berry, Germany?"

"Ja," Ludwig said. "But this berry is poisonous. It's called a yew berry. So don't eat it and get rid of all you've picked."

"But… I've already put them in the bag, Germany…"

"Well, then pick them out! No one can eat those!"

Feliciano pouted, but eventually did as he was told. "I'm sorry, Germany. I didn't mean to hurt anybody."

"I know you didn't, Italy. But you have to remember to check with me before eating anything you find out here, okay?"

"Yes, sir, Germany, sir!"

"Mein Gott… what did I do to deserve this?"

* * *

Francis picked up a few sticks from the ground and balanced them in his arms as he carefully stepped over a rotting log. He grimaced. "I can't wait until we leave this place." Seriously. His hair was becoming a mess and the humidity the trees were holding in wasn't helping any.

Alfred scoffed somewhere nearby. "I doubt that. We've only just got here. As much as I wish the same thing…"

"Oh," said Francis, smirking. "So we have something in common, ami?"

Alfred appeared from behind a group of trees, arms full of wood. "Yeah, I guess."

Francis stepped closer to him. "So… have you—_gotten_—anything in a while?"

Alfred looked curiously at him. "Whadaya mean?"

"I mean," said Francis stepping ever closer. "That maybe," step "we have more in common" step "than you may" step "think." By now he was brushing up against Alfred's shoulder leering. Alfred took a few paces away from him to pick up another stray stick.

"I still don't get what you mean, bro."

Francis sighed. Alfred had always been quite thick. "I _mean_, amour." He stepped closer. "That I've been _very lonely_ since the Uprising, and I was wondering if perhaps we could _do something recreational_ here while we're all _alone_."

Alfred thought for a moment, then came to a sudden conclusion, exciting Francis. "But, man, I'm with you. You can't be _that_ lonely out here, can you?"

Francis sighed, exasperated. "I'm not with _you_ around, ami. But look around, the scene is perfect for a few private _activities_. It certainly is,"—his eyes darted to the rotting log and he scowled—"romantic, non?" Well, he _was _desperate.

Alfred scoffed. "To you, but not to me. Jeez, you Frenchies and all your romantic ramblings all the time. When do you ever shut up about those things? If the forest looks good to you, then live here for crying out loud! I don't give a shit." And he started off back toward the camp. "C'mon, I can't hold much more."

Francis sighed, following him, feeling a bit crestfallen. "Well, there's still ten other people…" Then his mind floated to Ivan, shivering, and then he thought, "Non, only nine."

* * *

"A-a-achoo!"

"Bless you, Russia."

"Da, thank you, comrade." Ivan rubbed his nose with annoyance as he entered the camp with Yao beside him. "Why is everyone seeming to be thinking about me today?"

_Maybe because they're scared of having to sleep in the forest with you…? _Yao wanted to say, but bit his lip as he caught Ivan's glare, just daring him to answer.

Matthew immediately rushed up to them as soon as they arrived. "Did you catch anything, guys? Alfred and Francis got back with the firewood, so we're ready to cook anything you've got."

Yao raised a string of fish. Matthew smiled, then frowned. "My crossbow didn't work for you, it seems?"

"Nyet," Ivan replied. "I seem to be sneezing a lot lately and don't know why." Then he addd in a deadly whisper, "You haven't been talking about me behind my back, have you, comrade Matvey?"

Recalling what he had said earlier about Ivan, Matthew laughed nervously and answered, "Of course not, Russia, what would make you think that? I'm perfectly fine having you in this camp. Delighted! Ahahaha…" _Oh, maple, please don't kill me. People are just starting to notice me…_

Ivan gave him a long look before his eyes darted to Arthur. "What is comrade England doing, hm?"

"Uh…"

Arthur was currently seated on the ground by his completed circle, another smaller circle sitting right in front of him. He was wearing a dark cloak with the hood drawn up he must have gotten out of his bag when Matthew wasn't looking. Runes were drawn around the smaller circle, and the Briton was muttering furiously under his breath in some language Matthew had never heard of in his life, gently touching his fingers to each rune on the same weird word he uttered in turn.

"I really don't know… something about warding away evil spirits?"

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Oh… interesting. Does he notice anything going on around him when he's doing that?" Something sinister glinted in Ivan's violet eyes.

Matthew stiffened. "I wouldn't interrupt him…"

"Hey, Igs, whatcha doing?" Alfred's loud voice echoed across the clearing.

He was standing over Arthur, nosily looking at what he was doing. Arthur turned to him, hood flying off, and growled, "Dammit, America! Why must you always interfere with my spells? Now you've disrupted the spiritual pressure (Haha, Bleach fan) and I have to start the cycle all over again!" He muttered angrily under his breath as he returned to his runes, leaving Alfred to stare with surprise at him.

"England-san," Kiku said suddenly as he stoked the flames of the fire. "is very strange indeed. Did I ever tell you what happened when he came to visit me and used my bath?"

* * *

Night was upon them, but the fire brightened the campsite and no one was tired, surprisingly. In fact, most of them were either too scared (thinking of Ivan or the wilderness) or too excited to sleep. They were all situated in a circle around the fire (within the outer circle Arthur had drawn, as Arthur had been very adamant about that) on their sleeping bags and talking casually as if this was just another world meeting but without the formal and boring atmosphere.

"So, okay, I've got one." said Alfred eagerly as his turn came around. "So these three nuns have to walk by this one apartment every morning to get to their monstrosity…"

"_Monastery_, git." Arthur corrected stuffily.

"Right, right," Alfred went on. "So they walked past this apartment everyday, but the problem was, there was a random parrot sitting on a perch that the manager owned, and every time they walked past, it shouted three random colors at them. One day they walked past it, it said, "Red, white, blue!"…"

Ivan rolled his eyes at the reference, and Alfred went on, "Then one of the nuns, okay, she had this wild idea. She said, 'Well, maybe it's saying what the color of our underwear is?' Dirty nun to suspect that, eh? Well, they checked and confirmed it. Then she said, "Let's wear the same color underwear tomorrow and see what happens" so they did: black. And the parrot said, "Black, black, black!" and the nuns were outraged of course, because they're, well, women of the clause…"

"_Cloth_, you dunderhead."

Alfred waved him down and Arthur scowled. "Whatever, Igs. So, anyway, the one nun was like, 'Why don't we try wearing no underwear and see what happens? That parrot will be fooled, then!' So they wore no underwear the next day and walked past the parrot…"

"I like where this is going, ami."

"Shut it, frog."

"So they walked past the parrot and the one nun was smiling to herself thinking _'What a stupid bird!' _when, all of a sudden, the parrot squawked out after a moment of examination, "Straight, straight, curly!"…"

A second or so passed before the whole group burst out laughing. Well, all except Feliciano, of course.

"Ve, what is it? What's so funny?"

Gilbert began, "Well, you see the parrot said what each nun's—"

"If you tell him, bastard, I will kill you in your sleep." Lovino growled.

Meanwhile, Francis leered. "I like that one, ami. I'll be sure to remember it." Then he straightened. "Now, for one of my own. So this woman works at a sperm bank—"

"We don't want to know!" everyone called.

Francis slouched a bit, looking slightly offended. "Well, I assure you, you're missing a good laugh."

After a silent moment, Alfred rose from his sleeping bag, stretching. "Well, I gotta take a leak. I'll be right back."

"Thanks for telling us…" Arthur deadpanned.

Alfred went over to Matthew's backpack and searched through it. Matthew watched him with confusion. "Uh, Al? What are you doing going through my stuff? Didn't I tell you a long time ago it's not nice to do that?" He should have known Alfred still have a nosy streak in him. He did tend to piss off other countries with it often enough.

Alfred scoffed. "I'm not going through your stuff… but I do _notice_ you have a picture of Cuba in here…" His voice turned threatening. Before Matthew could counter his claim, Alfred stood up and said, "Nah, I'm just taking a flare. It's dark and, ya never know, I could need help, or get lost, or be eaten by a wild animal, or be dragged away by some beast…"

Arthur sighed. "Alfred, how long has it been since you last watched a scary movie?"

"A couple of weeks… I was bored, all right?" he added when Arthur stared at him in disbelief. "I was shut in my house for nearly a month, so I went through my movie collection…"

Matthew sighed. "All right, Al. But don't be long. And be careful with that flare!" he said as his brother trundled warily off into the shadowed woods. "If it goes off, it'll attract all that is out there for miles like moths to a lantern!"

"I get it, I get it, bro, sheesh!"

And he was gone.

"Well," said Ivan, looking a trifle happier. "At least we don't have to listen to him for a while."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed, feeling weird that he was in accordance with Ivan of all people. "You'd think that after I raised him he'd be a little less rude and a little more tactful."

"A little?" Francis laughed, recalling his hard time in the forest with Alfred that day.

Matthew huffed. "It's not polite to talk about people behind their backs. Russia would certainly know." At this, Ivan gave a warning growl, and Matthew quickly went on, "A-and don't talk about how rude he is when you're being rude yourselves. I mean, honestly, with England raising him, he wouldn't have turned out any other way…"

Arthur looked affronted. "Really? And what are you implying? That I wasn't a good brother?" There was hurt in his voice.

"No…" Matthew said. "But if you raise someone so strictly, then they tend to rebel. As you learned, England. I'm not saying that you aren't a good teacher, I mean, your own charge outgrew you."

Arthur frowned, his lips drawn on in a thin line. "Go on."

Matthew continued almost warily. "Well, I mean, just look at his middle name."

Arthur shifted on his sleeping bag. "What is it? He never told me. He got it after his revolution."

Matthew was about to answer, when a shot pierced the air. It was followed by a red flash, shooting through the sky like a rocket.

"Al!" Matthew shouted, and as if he heard his name amongst all the noise, Alfred came charging through the trees, stopping in front of them, smiling broadly.

Matthew rushed up to him. "Alfred, what the hell did you do?!"

Alfred's smile grew even wider. "I lit the flare."

Arthur shouted incredulously, "America, you idiot! Why?"

"Everyone will know where we are for _miles_!" Lovino groaned.

"_Be silent_!"

Everyone stopped yelling and looked at Ivan fearfully. Ivan turned toward the trees. "I hear something… something's coming."

"Ve! Germany!" Feliciano began to sob into Ludwig's shirt.

The sound drew nearer, the sound of footsteps. Everyone raised their guns, but Alfred shouted, "No! Don't shoot! We have to see what it is first, remember?" He flashed an oddly excited look at Matthew and everyone glared at the Canadian in turn. _Oh great. _Matthew thought. _Alfred found a loophole… probably for the only time in his life._

After a bit of rustling leaves, a figure darted into the clearing.

Then it stepped into the firelight.

It was a rather short girl, who looked to be about fifteen. She had dusky brown hair that fell to her shoulders, ending in little waves at the bottom. She had brown eyes and freckles, and was carrying a deer rifle. She looked around, her eyes wide and terrified.

"H-hello… I'm looking for my dad…"

* * *

Translations:  


Дерьмо-Damn

A Word From the Writer: Yup. I told you I made up profiles about the states. What, you don't think I did all fifty? That's called patience and research, my friends... I'm currently drawing them.

Good evening, my lovelies, and remember

RUSSIA KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE THINKING.

Sweet dreams. ;)


	23. The Huntress

**Yay for an OC!  
**

Warning: Usual angst and tension, especially between America and Russia.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**The Huntress**

"H-hello… I'm looking for my dad…"

Everyone stood there, too shocked to do anymore then stare.

The girl straightened, and asked again, "D-does anybody know my dad? His name is—"

Alfred pushed his way through the other nations toward her. "Moriah!"

"Dad?" the girl smiled and ran toward Alfred, throwing her arms around his waist. "Dad… I-I can't believe I found you…"

"Moriah," Alfred hugged her tightly to him. "I've been feeling your presence for hours, but I couldn't think of anything to get your attention…"

"Well," said Moriah, pulling herself away from Alfred and looking at him lovingly. "I knew it had to be you. Who else would be stupid enough to light off a flare in these times?"

Arthur cleared his throat loudly. "Er… do you mind explaining yourself, America?"

Alfred and Moriah turned to address them. "Yeah… this is my daughter Moriah, though you may know her better as Montana."

"Well," said Moriah, scratching the back of her head nervously. "I don't suppose you'd really _know_ me. You've probably heard of me, though. I'm a bit… withdrawn. Aheheheh…"

Matthew came forward, his eyes alight. "I know you! Remember me?"

Moriah studied him for a second. "Oh, yeah! You're Canada—er, Mattie! You took me out hunting a few times long ago."

Matthew stepped forward and gave her a one-armed hug. "Yeah, I remember too. You were really young… about eight, in fact. Well, _looked_ eight. That was the day you shot your first buck. Right in the head, too!"

"I know," Moriah replied, flashing a mischievous look at Alfred. "Dad was so scared I'd hurt myself."

Alfred snapped, "I didn't know you'd went _that_ far into the woods. What if you'd gotten hurt?"

Matthew scoffed. "Deer tend to live deeper in the woods than you may think, Al, plus," He gave Moriah a proud look. "You're a great shot."

"Moriah," Alfred began, but Moriah held up a hand.

"Please, Dad, again don't call me Moriah."

"Why? I named you!"

"Only because the first two letters corresponded with my state name. You named all your states that way."

"Only so I could remember them! Jeez, there're fifty of you, gimme a break!"

"Well," said Moriah huffily. "I don't like the name."

Alfred looked a tad hurt. "But… I thought it was a beautiful name. I thought it would suit the beautiful scenery you have."

"Well, then you obviously don't know me."

Alfred's face fell. "How could you say that? I raised you."

Arthur sighed. "Now you know what I went through with you, America."

"What?"

"You wanted to be yourself. That's why you had your revolution. And that's also why you gave yourself a middle name." Arthur swallowed dryly. "Obviously… _Montana_ wants to come into herself also."

Alfred turned quickly to her. "Does that mean you want to separate from me?"

Moriah laughed. "No, no! Never! I could never leave you, Dad. I love you."

Alfred smiled. "I love you too, Montie."

"But if you loved me," Moriah said carefully. "you would call me Marge."

Alfred wrinkled his nose. "Marge? Why?"

"It's short for Marjorie." Marge said. "And I think it suits me better than some prissy name that sounds like it should belong to some rich actress or singer. You see," Marge cocked her rifle. "I'm a huntress. And I don't think people would take me seriously if they called me Moriah."

"So, _Marge_," Matthew cut in, his eyes now darting from tree-to-tree. "Do you happen to have a safe place to stay around here? It might be that Al's decision to shoot off the flare has attracted more attention than just your own."

"Da," Ivan added, and Alfred frowned, as if he didn't want his rival's voice to tarnish the moment. "I can hear something big moving toward us."

Matthew nodded. "Yeah, that's what's worrying me."

Alfred's frown deepened. "How the hell do you _hear _that?!"

"Never mind that." Arthur turned to Marge. "Is there a place? Where did you come from?"

Marge pointed toward the trees from which she came. "Just north, not a mile. As I said earlier, I felt Dad's presence and came rushing over here. I might have attracted something on the way also. I must say I wasn't as careful as I usually am."

Suddenly, Lovino rushed forward. "Take us there, then, dammit! We'll die out here if we stay much longer!"

Alfred growled. "Don't yell at my daughter, asshole."

"What did you just call me, bastard?"

Francis pushed Lovino back a little. "Please, Romano. Don't worsen the situation."

"Don't touch me, wine bastard!"

"Please don't yell, brother!" Feliciano sniffed, threatening to cry.

Ludwig quickly tried to calm him. "Shh, shh, Veneziano, you'll attract something else…"

At this, Feliciano broke out into even louder sobs.

Gilbert glared at his brother. "Look at what you did, West! Now we'll attract everything from miles around!"

Lovino snarled. "Don't you blame my brother, bastard!"

"_He's _the one starting it, Totally Unawesome Tomato-Eater!"

"Che, you still suck ass at making insults, potato bastard."

"Yeah, well you're not as awesome as—"

"QUIET!"

It was, surprisingly, Matthew. Beside him, Alfred shrunk back significantly. "Toldja he's scary when he's angry."

"Now," said Matthew calmly, his tone still biting. "While we're traveling it is essential that we remain _completely and utterly silent_." He eyed the Italies at this and Gilbert. "Or else that thing may turn tail and decide to track us. So let's pack up our stuff. And again, I implore _quietly_. And we'll follow Marge back to her campsite. Al," He turned to his brother. "Douse the fire. I'll get the food from the trees." And he set off.

Without much ado, the others packed their things quickly. Smoke issued in great, wafting amounts from the fire when Alfred threw water on it. At this, Matthew hissed from his place in the tree, now unhooking supplies, "Dammit, Alfred! _Stamp _on it next time!"

Alfred tried to blow the smoke away by taking off his bomber jacket and waving at it, but that only managed to get the smoke to spiral higher into the sky. Then, Ivan came out of nowhere, scaring the living shit out of Alfred, as he stepped up from behind him, snatched the jacket out of Alfred's hands, and threw it down onto the heap of charred sticks and ashes. Alfred glared at him, but Ivan only smiled and said, "It helped, da?" and left to finish packing up his own things.

Meanwhile, Marge, who had been watching, walked over to pluck Alfred's jacket out of the smoldering fire, brushing it off and handing it to him. She was trying to hold down a smile, but it was obvious nonetheless.

"Thanks, Montie. That asshole…" Alfred grumbled, throwing on his dusty, ash-smeared jacket.

Marge let out a small laugh. "You can't say it wasn't your fault. _You_ caused the mess up with the fire, so it should be _your_ jacket that should be used to put it out. Besides," she added, casting a glance at the Russian, who was now standing with his back to them, gazing up at the night sky. "he was just doing what you should have done."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Alfred muttered irately, refusing to believe the fact that anything Ivan did was helpful in any way to him. "He's still an asshole."

Marge shook her head. "Oh, you really are hopeless. Maybe you should just let go of your rivalry with him. Forgive and forget, right? England and France have done it."

They both surveyed said countries, who were currently squabbling over something that concerned Francis ogling at Arthur's ass. They both then looked at each other again.

"Well," Marge said, shrugging. "At least it's less hostile than you and Russia. I mean, they didn't try to blow each other up."

"You don't need to remind me." said Alfred grudgingly. "But they damn near should have. No doubt if nukes had been created back then, one of them wouldn't be here right now."

Marge sighed exasperatedly. "Please don't make this difficult."

Sadiq, who had already packed, was standing watch, eyes scanning the trees. Yao was talking to Kiku from his place on watch too, not wanting to be outdone by Sadiq, but Kiku didn't appear to be listening. Instead, the man was scanning the skies as Ivan was also doing at the moment.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Francis had stopped bickering, and moved to opposite sides of the clearing. Francis was assisting Matthew by catching the supplies that were dropped down to him while Arthur was scuffing out his spirit circle, muttering under his breath as he did so, his eyes closed, his large eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

Ludwig was helping Feliciano pack, but the Italian was proving to be a handful. He was currently darting around the clearing, sticking multiple white flags around it at intervals. Gilbert, who had already packed his belongings, was annoyingly pacing in a circle around the still-fuming Lovino, bragging, the Italian occasionally pausing in his packing to snap at him.

Kiku broke his stargazing to appear at Alfred's side without warning. Alfred started, holding in a yelp as he hissed, "Jesus, Kik. Don't do that!"

"Sorry," Kiku said, his eyes floating up to the sky once more. "The moon has moved. We have lingered too long here."

"Wha?" Alfred peered up at the sky, squinting, as if trying to make out an obvious shape in the stars. "I don't see anything."

Kiku tried to quell his frustrated sigh. Alfred tended to be thick.

"Da, let's go."

Alfred did yelp this time. Matthew scurried down the tree trunk and shushed him with a glare. Alfred stared at Ivan who had, like Kiku, appeared from nowhere. Although, unlike Kiku, who still retained traces of strong samurai skills, there was no explanation as to why Ivan was so fast and quiet.

Alfred frowned. "We'll go when we're ready. But you could go right now if you want. I'm sure everyone would be glad."

At this, Ivan smiled creepily. Alfred shrunk back and Matthew called across the clearing "Al, please!" and the Russian said, "Da, I am sure of that. But then no one would know where I might turn up. Maybe when you are sleeping? I am not the person you want to be enemies with, Amerika. And I know you already were before," added Ivan when Alfred opened his mouth to protest. "But consider this: As far as I'm concerned, my country is dead. What is left of Mother Russia is gone. And I'm willing to accept that, even if it means I will no longer be a nation, even if it means the death of me. Now, though, I have nothing to lose. So, hurting any one of you wouldn't be a problem with me. I know I'll soon die anyway." He smiled at everyone, and a noticeable shiver raced through the crowd. "If I do kill you, I'll just see it as sparing you pain and suffering." His eyes darted to Marge, who was now shaking. "Do not be scared, little one. I'm sure you know death is inevitable?"

Alfred grabbed Marge, coming within a few feet of Ivan, not blinking, scowling. "You will always and forever be a heartless bastard to me, no matter if the world ends or not. But let's get one thing straight. You can hurt me. You can hurt my traditions. You can hurt my country. But you _will not_ hurt my states, no matter how much you have left to lose. Got that?"

Ivan's smile turned into a frown. "Provocation, it seems, is still your specialty, Amerika. Have you ever wondered how you have acquired so many enemies? And yet you were surprised when the twin towers fell. It's really pitiful, how ignorant you are."

Alfred's face turned from warning, to murderous in a millisecond. Even Arthur stopped in his muttering to turn around, assess the situation, and rush forward, saying, "Alfred, you idiot. Not this again."

"Don't you _dare _bring that up, you worthless sonofbitch."

"Daddy, don't. You'll make it worse." Marge tried to pull Alfred away, but he wouldn't budge, wouldn't blink, determined to wait Ivan out.

Ivan scoffed. "Doesn't he always?"

"Russia, America, stop this at once." Arthur said, willing himself not to shrink back when Ivan flashed him a glare. "You're so selfish, both of you. Honestly, you want to fight _now_, when all of us are in danger?" Arthur scoffed, pulling down the hood of the cloak he was wearing. "It's just like the Cold War all over again. You didn't care who you killed, as long as you settled your vendettas."

Alfred stared at Ivan a little while more, Ivan staring back with the same amount of malice. Then the American turned away, grabbing his daughter firmly by the wrist and leading her toward the trees. "You're right, Igs. Sorry. Now, let's get the fuck out of here…"

"Um, Dad, it's _that_ way."

"Oh, right. I knew that."

* * *

They traipsed through the forest for around an hour, before Marge had led them to a camp with a single tent and a snuffed fire.

"Well," she said, spreading her arms. "Here we are."

Alfred followed her into the camp, looking around in empathy. "And you've been living alone here this whole time?"

Marge shook her head. "No. Not this _whole_ time. I did have the Dakotas camping with me, but then we were attacked and became,"—her throat seemed to have closed a bit at this—"separated."

"Daniel and Dahlila were here?" Alfred asked, astonished and excited.

"Yeah," said Marge. "But I haven't heard from them since. Before I felt you in close proximity, I'd been searching around for them, hoping they had somehow escaped."

Alfred's face fell. "They were captured?"

Marge nodded, almost hesitantly. "Yeah… I was hoping you could tell me if you've… _felt _anything?"

Arthur's brows drew together suspiciously as Alfred's hand subconsciously went to his chest. "No… no, I haven't felt anything since the Uprising began, except maybe a twinge here or there."

Arthur couldn't contain his curiosity. "Do you mind telling the rest of us what the hell you are talking about, or shall we be kept in the dark?"

Alfred turned to them and opened his mouth once, then closed it again, flashing at look at his daughter who nodded for him to continue. "I… I," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, Nantucket jutting upward despite the disturbance. He then looked at Arthur. "Art, you've felt when certain areas of your country are… hurt?"

Arthur blinked, having a vague feeling where this was going. "Yes, of course. During the London fires, I was burned for a long time. And even now I'm sure everyone's feeling a tad weak since major monuments and areas have been ravaged or destroyed."

"Oui, ami," cut in Francis, and Arthur instantly frowned. "When my _Tour Eiffel _went down, I felt sick for weeks."

"No one asked you, frog." Arthur snapped, then returned his attention to Alfred. "Go on,"

"Well…" Alfred said slowly, looking down at the ground. "Um, certain areas of my body are devoted to each of my states, and I can feel when they are hurt or in distress, or even when they're nearby. It's a perk, but it's kind of a hassle, such as the occurrence with New York. It felt like someone'd nearly slit my throat, and I couldn't talk for months."

"Oh, yes, I remember." Arthur said, thinking back to the time when Alfred had collapsed during the meeting, blood gathering in a pool beneath him. It was horrifying. "So that's what happened. I thought it was some freak accident. Something to do with attacking you as well as the towers."

Alfred flinched at the words. "Yeah, well, I haven't felt anything bad yet, so they all must just be in hiding."

He went over to poke the fire into life, and Marge motioned for the others to come into the clearing to set up their sleeping bags.

"Where did you get this tent at?" Lovino asked, eyeing it greedily.

"A cabin," Marge replied, and the Italian's eyes lit up hopefully. "But not mine. Just some emergency cabin placed at intervals around the park. I have some more tents and supplies back there, but for now we'll have to sleep here. You all look exhausted."

"Che, obviously." Lovino scoffed, and Marge frowned. Then, putting two fingers in her mouth, she whistled. Lovino looked up in alarm, just in time to see a large copper-colored dog tackle him to the ground. The Italian cursed and kicked and writhed on the ground as the dog sloppily licked his face.

Marge just stood beside him, watching with amusement and looking highly smug. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Dad. I wasn't alone when the Dakotas left. I've had Ruby with me."

Alfred straightened and turned from laying out his sleeping bag adjacent to Marge's tent, and his eyes brightened immediately. "Hey! Hello, Ruby girl. You remember me? Huh?" He bent over and slapped his knees, beckoning the dog.

Immediately, the dog paused in its pursuit to completely cover Lovino in drool, and perked its ears, staring at Alfred a moment before launching itself out of the Italian's lap and racing to him. Alfred let out a jubilant laugh as she too toppled him to the ground, tail whipping violently through the air as she covered his face in licks.

Alfred laughed, trying to avoid Ruby's tongue. "I see she still likes to give kisses, doncha, girl?"

Francis smirked. "_I _like to give kisses too, amo—"

"Shut it, frog." Arthur snapped, watching Alfred and Ruby wrestle on the ground, trying to hide his smile. "Alfred, what breed of dog is she? I've never seen one like her. Though from the build, I suspect she's a hunting dog?"

"Y-yeah," Alfred said, pushing the dog off of him and patting her on the head when she gave a few protesting whines. "She's a Coonhound."

"A _Redbone _Coonhound." Marge corrected.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Coonhound, you say? I've never heard of it." He frowned. He hated to admit that he didn't know something, even if it just was a breed of dog.

Alfred smiled. "Well, that's the thing. Most people outside my country don't know about the breed. They're bred exclusively here. Well… I'd say mostly in the south. They tend to have a lot of swamps down there."

"Swamps?"

"Well," Alfred continued, gazing down at Ruby lovingly as she began pacing around him. "Ya see, when you, France, and all the other countries that first explored me came here—"

"Honhon, and I wouldn't mind exploring you _again_, amour~"

"—they brought dogs with them." Alfred went on, ignoring Francis's comment, causing the other country to pout noticeably. "Hunting dogs, of course. But after my revolution, southerners discovered they needed heartier dogs, dogs that could take navigating their way through thick forested areas and could fight dangerous animals and survive if need be. So," He gave Ruby a scratch behind the ear as she sat loyally next to him. "They bred Bloodhounds with Irish Foxhounds to get the Coonhound."

"And she's called a Coonhound for a reason." Marge said, holding up the furry pelt of a raccoon by the tail. "Coonhounds can climb trees and even fight off alligators, mountain lions, and bears if need be. She's kept me very safe these past few weeks and helped me on the hunt. Haven't you, girl?"

Ruby barked happily in response, trotting over to sniff at her recently-skinned catch still held in Marge's hand.

Alfred frowned, casting a glance at Arthur. "You haven't heard of the book _Where the Red Fern Grows_? It has Coonhounds in it."

Arthur also frowned. "No, I don't believe I have. Though I must admit, I'm more into older works such as Shakespeare, John Locke, Charles Dickens…"

"I have,"

Alfred turned to Ivan, who had surprisingly answered. He stepped out from the shadows he had been standing in and eyed him evenly. "It was a good book. Though I must say, the accent in which it was written was quite annoying. But the dogs were loyal. And the book had a good plot, if one is into such things as hunting and country life. But the ending was sad… which I disliked." He paused, eyes rolling upward as he thought. "Ah… what were those dogs' names? I can't seem to remember."

"Old Dan and Little Ann." Marge had to reply for Alfred was too shocked to find his voice. "I didn't know you read books by American authors, Russia." There was obvious amusement in her eyes.

Ivan looked at her steadily before saying, "Of course I do. I read as a past time. I normally ask people or search the Internet to find good books. I've read books from many other countries as well. This one, however, just happened to be from America, and, having read the book, I wanted to show that I'd at least learned something. I've known of Coonhounds for a few years now. Although, I still think the Borzoi is a much better hunting dog."

Arthur blinked in understanding. "Oh… the Russian Wolfhound."

Alfred flashed his brother a glare. "How the hell do you know that?"

"I read." Arthur replied simply. "American literature, though, has lost its taste for me."

Alfred frowned and turned back to Ivan. "And what do _Bersers _or whatever hunt exactly?"

Arthur sighed. Alfred wanted to be dominant in dog breeds also. Of course.

Ivan grinned. "Borzois hunt their namesake: wolves." At this, he saw Alfred's face fall, then added, "I have one at home. Though Sasha seemed to have disappeared a few months ago."

Alfred thought for a moment, then said, "So… she's big, is she?"

Ivan flashed him a malicious look that made him flinch. "Sasha is _male_. Unlike your country which has turned the noble name feminine, in my country it is still used as a form of Alexander."

Marge spoke up to spare her father further embarrassment: "Maybe after all this, we could get together and have a doggy playdate, huh?"

Ivan looked at her incredulously and Alfred muttered under his breath "Fat chance." And steered Ruby away from the Russian protectively.

"Okay!" Marge clapped her hands together loudly. "Enough dog talk. I understand you all have had a long plane ride? It's best to get as much sleep now as you can."

And with that, everyone laid down in their respective sleeping bags. Though everyone remained wide awake, even Marge, with the thought that Ivan was amongst them. Most were busily going through memories of bad things they had ever said or done to him, judging whether or not they may be the first to fall victim to his trusty pipe. All of them seemed worried, except for Lovino, who was still muttering grumpily under his breath about the whole Uprising even as the last nations drifted wearily off to sleep.

* * *

They all woke up early the next morning. Marge made sure to go around and shake everyone awake (though with Ivan, Alfred forbade her to do so, and tried kicking the Russian awake himself before shrieking when he was abruptly grabbed by the ankle as Ivan had been awake the whole time). Lovino they had trouble waking up, though many suspected the Italian was already awake but was going through one of his stubborn fits. Marge tried sending Ruby on him, but Lovino only rolled over and buried his face in his pillow to avoid receiving excessive amounts of slaver to the face. Eventually, Gilbert got impatient and tickled him awake, at which point Lovino did wake up (and rather pissed off at that) and the Prussian came away with a bloody lip.

"Heh, the bastard can hit when he's annoyed but not when he's in danger." Gilbert muttered to his brother, though Ludwig was only half-listening as he was currently trying to keep Feliciano from chasing a butterfly out of the camp. "I'll remember that."

"Okay, everyone!" Marge said cheerfully, throwing her backpack over her shoulder when everyone had packed, tent within it. "The cabin should be about a day away. I traveled only a short way out here to search for Danny and Dallie."

The rest of the day passed without much but small talk and they stopped every once in a while to snack on whatever they'd managed to bring with them in their packs. Arthur was still thinking about Marge and states she had mentioned. He was curious, but it was more out of a lack of conversation that he said, "I only knew the Thirteen personally, but I don't know your other state's names."

Alfred smiled. "Well, I have fifty, so I can't blame you for that. I even forget them sometimes, especially the twins."

Marge guffawed up front. "Ha! D'ya remember that time when you gave the wrong gifts to the Dakotas? That was hilarious!"

Alfred frowned. "I didn't know you still remembered that. You were younger than them at the time."

"Yes, but," Marge went on. "you remember something as funny as this for the rest of your life. So, okay, Dad thinks he's bought the perfect gifts, okay—"

"One was a set of toy soldiers and the other was a handmade doll." Alfred continued, catching the amused stare from Arthur. "And I didn't _sew_ the doll! I just… made the clothes…"

At this, Arthur and everyone within the vicinity burst out laughing. Alfred, rather pink in the face shouted, "All right! All right! You'd do it too if they were _your _kids!" The doll had turned out to be pretty crappy and had scared his daughter at first, because Alfred absolutely sucked at sewing.

"Anyway," Marge went on, for Alfred was having trouble composing himself. "It was their birthday, so he gave them the gifts, names on them and everything… but he gave them to _the wrong person_!" She shrieked with laughter again.

When everyone followed suit, Alfred once again shouted, "You'd make the same mistake! They looked exactly the same! Clothes and haircuts and everything!"

Arthur finished laughing, wiping tears from his eyes and continued, "Now, back to my earlier question…"

Marge then turned around to face them, smiling wickedly. "Oh, wait, I haven't told you about the mistake he made with the Virginia twins."

Alfred rounded on her immediately. "I told you never to repeat that!" Then, without allowing her to say anything more, he answered Arthur, "Well, I'll name them in alphabetical order so that I won't have to repeat the states in order too. Just remember I named them all so that the first letters or so of their human names matched your state name. So… there's Allison, Alexei, Arielle, Aaron, Calvin—whoops, I mean Callie—Colton, Connor, Della, Dillon Cole, Flint, Georgiana, Halola, Ida, Illius, Ingrid, Ivan, Kailee, Kendrich, Louis, Maison, Martin, Malakai, Michael, Minerva, Misty, Moriah—oh, excuse me, _Marjorie_—Nekolai, Nevaeh, Hamilton, Jeremy, Mercedes, Nathan Young, Caroline, Dahlila, Oscar, Olivia, Orion, Penelope, Roan Isaac, Carolyn, Daniel, Tennyson, Terax, Ulysses, Veronica, Victoria, Warren, Virgil, Willow, and Wynston."

"Damn," Yao muttered. "How you keep track of all them? I barely can with my o—" Yao's words had caught in his throat as he was reminded of those he had lost. Kiku moved to stand beside him, brushing up against him as he walked to let him know that he was there for him.

Gilbert snorted. "I would. I'm awesome like that."

Lovino gave him a scathing look, but before he could say anything, Ludwig snapped, "Be quiet, bruder."

Marge stopped to examine the sky. "It's getting dark. We should make camp."

Everyone muttered their assent—it had been two long days of travel for them on limited supplies of food and they were all more than ready for sleep.

Feliciano was fussing with his sleeping bag and Ludwig sighed, going over to help him. The Italian was unusually hyperactive, and said that he didn't want to go to sleep because he kept having nightmares.

Lovino, meanwhile, peered over at them for all the noise they were making, and frowned at Ludwig's presence. He was currently tucking Feliciano into his sleeping bag, much to Lovino's displeasure.

Eventually, the Italian grew tired of watching Ludwig struggle with his brother, and walked over, pushing the German away. "Get your wurst-diseased hands off him, bastard." And he commenced soothing Feliciano.

Sadiq, meanwhile, circled the camp once before sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag, just about to settle down, when he caught sight of Yao, who was talking to Kiku, then sat rigidly upright. Kiku, meanwhile, was looking as though he could fall asleep just from Yao's droning voice.

Arthur was drawing a circle around the camp with a stick, then sat down to murmur in an ancient language, between sessions whispering, "I hope I'm not too late…" He had his cloak on and his hood up and sat alone on the outer edge of the camp. Francis dragged his sleeping bag over beside the still-muttering Arthur, contently watching him, the Briton none the wiser, too engrossed in his spell-weaving.

Gilbert laid out his sleeping bag (well away from Ivan) and sat down on it, taking out a knife and slipping it under his pillow, all the while watching Ivan, who eventually spotted him halfway through and glared pointedly at him. After that, Gilbert refused to slip into his sleeping bag, preferring instead to lie upon it (though rather hesitantly), facing Ivan's direction. Gilbert stared unblinkingly at him until Ivan's eyes met his, at which point, he looked away quickly, pretending to examine the stars.

Matthew was slipping into his sleeping bag next to Alfred's, determined to watch him carefully so that he couldn't wander off to do something totally stupid again. Ludwig tried to lay on his sleeping bag beside Feliciano (afraid the idiot would do something to hurt himself), but Lovino snapped at him, so he was forced to move beside his brother, still close enough to keep an eye on both Italians. Lovino placed himself between Ludwig and Feliciano, quieting his brother with a growl.

Marge was about to slip into her tent when she said, "Um… are you sure none of you would like to sleep in the tent? I could just sleep out here for tonight, it's not like I have been out in the open like you guys all the time I've been here. If anyone's sick—"

"No," Alfred said hastily before Lovino or Ludwig could say anything—Lovino for himself and Ludwig for Feliciano. "You have it, Montie. We can take one night out here before going to the cabin, I'm sure."

At this, he got many glares, but Alfred seemed oblivious to them as he settled down between his daughter's tent and Matthew.

They all dropped off gradually, Feliciano and Lovino among the first, shortly followed by Gilbert (who was loudly snoring). Ludwig fell asleep just before Yao and Sadiq settled into their sleeping bags at the same time, watching each other closely until they both became too tired to keep their eyes open and gave up their little competition to rest. Matthew assumed it fair to say that Alfred had fallen asleep, as his breathing had deepened, and turned over to drop off himself. Francis watched Arthur dreamily throughout his hour-long muttering, being forced into sleep soon after Arthur had turned around and uttered a yelp of surprise at his presence. The Brit then quickly relocated somewhere over by Matthew and fell asleep almost immediately, though he still continued to mutter in his sleep, as if something was still on his mind. The only ones left awake were Kiku and Ivan, though Kiku fell asleep watching the stars. Ivan too was watching the stars, wondering what would conspire within the next few days and if he would ever be home again and see Sasha and all the others he left behind. Shortly before deciding it was time to rest Ivan contemplated putting the spider that was then crawling beside him on Alfred, but settled with what he would be doing the next morning as being good enough, and fell into a light sleep.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Bleeeeeehh, my mind was elsewhere when I wrote this a million years ago. I dunno why I suddenly started mentioning dog breeds and books and whatevs. I guess the crack machine in my head started turning and I couldn't stop it!

Don't worry, though. This chapter was long because if I split it and posted it as two, you really wouldn't be getting much action out of it. The next one is longer, too. And it has action, yay!


	24. Scars

**Things heat up.  
**

Warning: Angst, tension, character deaths, death of certain famous figure, innuendo, and a dangerous situation.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Scars**

"Here we are!"

They all stopped in front of a small cabin.

"This is it?" Lovino asked incredulously, peeking around the side to see if there was another cabin attached to the one that stood before them.

Marge nodded. "I told you it wouldn't be much. But at least we'll be able to stay here for the night instead of sleeping outside. And it's a good thing too." She looked up to examine the slate-gray sky. "It looks like the sky's about to open up. C'mon." She pulled open the door and gestured for everyone to go inside before her.

"Ve~! It's so _cute_!"

"No, it's _small_, damn idiot."

Marge hurried in after them, water droplets littering her shoulders and brown hair from the sprinkling rain outside. "Whoo! Looks like it'll be a thunderstorm."

"Great we got here then, huh?" Alfred examined the room. "So… this is where you stayed with Danny and Dally?"

Marge nodded. "Yeah. But the rebels never found this cabin. We were already a mile or so away when they attacked. Right, Ruby Red?" The dog sat obediently at her side and barked in agreement.

"Where will you sleep, Marge?" Alfred asked. "I'll set up by you."

"Oh, over here by the window, I guess." Marge said, indicating the rest of the room with her hand. "Well, go on, find a spot!"

The cabin really was small, consisting only of a small family room/bedroom and a kitchen. Along with Spam, there was jerky, MRE's, various canned foods, water bottles, toilet paper, and a radio.

"Sweet!" Alfred said as he pulled the old radio out of a dusty and cobwebbed cabinet. "Finally, we have some way to communicate."

"Ve~what's this?" Feliciano had pulled out an MRE.

Marge quickly reached over and snatched the brown plastic bag up. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Is it food?" asked Lovino, who now had his full attention on them.

Alfred answered for her. "No. It's certainly edible… if you can get around the shitty taste and texture. Just eat the Spam, trust me, it's way better." He tossed the can to them and Feliciano reluctantly obeyed.

"I'll go hunting tomorrow morning when the rain has subsided." Marge said, glancing at Matthew. "Mattie, you wanna come with me?"

Matthew pondered for a moment. "Hmm, have you seen any herds of deer in this area?"

"Yep,"

"Are there… _stags_ in the herds?"

"Definitely,"

"Well, count me in!" Matthew lay back on his sleeping bag, which was situated beside Alfred's. "Damn, I haven't shot a buck in a while. Even on my way to New York all I could find were rabbits and fish."

Marge frowned. "I thought Kumajirou would help you out with that. I'm not saying you're not an excellent hunter, you are, but that bear has a better nose than yours, don't you think?"

Matthew's face went from excited to saddened within seconds. "Yeah. He would have been dead useful now that I think about it."

"What happened to him, Mattie? I haven't seen him at all since you met me at that airport." Alfred asked, curious.

Matthew sat up and scratched the back of his head, looking at his lap where his polar bear should have been sitting. "Well… I lied to you. It wasn't just me who was heading for New York. Kumajirou was traveling with me, but we only just set out when we were attacked by some men camping out in the woods. Said they wanted our food. But I wasn't about to give them all I'd just packed. It was all I had, and I wasn't about to go into the city to get some more. Whatever was left, that is. So I shot past one of the man's ears too distract him and took off. I was hoping that at least one of them would be deaf so it would be harder to follow us. But they both charged after me anyway. Kumajirou was running along beside me and pretty soon they caught up with us. They were only a few yards away when they began firing. Of course, I couldn't. I was too scared to stop and turn around. I might get hit. Then I noticed Kumajirou wasn't running alongside me anymore. I stopped behind a tree and looked around and found out the men weren't chasing me anymore. They were standing beneath a tree and looking up. I looked up too and saw that Kuma had climbed up a tree. I yelled out for them to stop, but they shot him down out of the tree anyway. Then they turned on me. I had no choice but to run. So I ran and ran until I couldn't run anymore. I know they must have stopped chasing me hours before, but I wasn't about to stop and make sure." His throat became scratchy and he added, "They said they were going to eat him. Well… the damn bear didn't know who I was most of the time anyway, so I guess it shouldn't be too sad." He sniffed, but didn't cry. He wasn't going to.

Alfred bent down and put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mattie."

"Thanks, Al. But there's no need to be sorry. He would have eventually forgotten who I was and gotten lost anyway."

"What happened to Panda?" Gilbert asked Yao. "I always see you with that damn bear. Where is he?"

"Dead," said Yao, his voice indifferent, but his eyes hollow. "Shot. He was in my basket one moment, and next…" He shook his head. "Lots of blood." Then he looked up at Gilbert. "And where is Gilbird, Prussia?"

Gilbert shook his head. "I sent him to deliver a message to Roddy. He didn't return. I found out a couple of days later that Roderich and Eliza had been murdered and that they killed Gilbird to prevent him from delivering anymore messages."

Francis sighed. "That sounds like what happened to Pierre. Change the fact that I was trying to get in touch with Monaco and Luxembourg. Whoever killed them sent a bird back to me that told me they had shot Pierre. Thank Dieu they did, though. Or else I wouldn't have been alerted to the fact that they knew my location. I wasn't as careful with my letter as I should have been."

There was silence for a moment, then Arthur cleared his throat. "Er, why don't we have a listen at that radio?"

"Oh," Marge ran toward it, jumping over sleeping bags as she did so. "Here it is." She held it up to the fading light of the window, twiddling the knobs, only hearing static at first. Kiku, meanwhile, disappeared to the kitchen and brought out some canned food they could eat. They passed them around and were grateful that they could be easily accessed by pulled a tab. It wasn't much, but it was something. They all quieted when they heard a voice cut through the static.

"… have reported that D.C. has fallen. The governor has been found dead in his office, his death ruled by examiners as a suicide. The president is at the moment nowhere that we know of. But if we hear word of his current condition, we will tell you—"

"He's in Guam." Alfred muttered, as if reassuring himself that he was still alive.

"—immediately. Meanwhile, rebels have been wreaking havoc in the capital today. The sight of famous monuments toppling due to the constant hacking and vandalizing of the Resistance has been the view of those who have chosen to remain in the area. The said monuments destroyed are as follows: the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, the World War II Memorial, the Capitol, the Supreme Court—"

Alfred winced as if hit. "Couldja please turn it to a different station? I don't want to hear anymore."

"Shh! Dad, we need to know what's left." Marge hissed, though it was evident that she was feeling the same way.

"—and various other memorials and monuments. The Smithsonian Museums have been ransacked and destroyed. The zoo, having been abandoned by employees, is dangerous to any citizen close to it. The animals, it has been reported, have escaped and are lingering around their enclosures but are getting reckless and desperate for food and it is predicted that they will soon take to the D.C. streets. Anyone close to the vicinity is advised to vacate their current residence and make for safer ground. The White House—"—Alfred gasped at this—"is under the protection of citizens still loyal to the old regime, but their numbers are dwindling. We assure all those wanting to help guard the house that the president has indeed vacated and we plead for all those still in the vicinity to leave immediately. The capital has been deemed dangerous and rebels have flocked from all over the country here to overthrow the government and kill all those who support it. Again, we advise all those still within the capital to leave and find a safe place to hide until this issue can be resolved."

Alfred laughed spitefully. "Like hell it will. Montie, turn the station, will ya? This is depressing."

Without saying a word, Marge twiddled the knobs again, her fingers shaking. Tears left wet trails on her cheeks.

There was static, wisps of voices, then: "… from all of us at the BBC, our hearts go out to those who still cling to the old government. Bless you."

Marge was about to turn the knob again, but Arthur lunged forward, snatching the radio from her. "No! Listen…"

Music sounded and a voice said, "Now for an update of the Uprising." The anchor's voice continued, "As you all well know by now, governments of the world are suffering violent revolts. We have therefore sent our remaining reporters to those major areas that are suffering most. We would like to once again to inform all who are tuning in that Downing Street is awash with rebels, but that the Prime Minister has been confirmed as safe in a secret location." Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, to Perkins reporting from London with breaking news. Perkins, can you hear me?"

There was static and then a meeker voice replied, "Yes, Michael, I can hear you loud and clear."

"Good. Tell us then what is happening in London at the moment."

"Well, from a hidden location I can see Buckingham Palace."

Arthur's breath hitched, and his grip tightened on the radio.

"The rebels have invaded the gardens and surrounded the Palace. The Royal Guards are down, I can't seem to see any that are still standing. Currently the rebels are attempting to break down the front doors."

The anchor was silent for a moment, then said, "Terrible! Perkins, you've been there for a few days now. What else have you seen? Was there any sight of the royal family?"

Arthur held his breath.

The reporter was silent for a long while before he choked out, obviously crying, "Y-yes, M-Michael. Yes, um… oh, goddamn them… ex-excuse me, Mike, I just can't seem…" There was a quivering sigh and a sniff.

Michael said almost hesitantly, "Yes, Perkins?"

There was another sniff before Perkins finally composed himself and said, "Yes, yes there has been activity. Yesterday the prince tried to send away the rebels from a balcony, but he was sh-shot down and… and h-h-hacked to p-p-pieces! I saw it all, the screaming, and the blood and everything. _Damn _th-them!"

Arthur threw the radio halfway across the room in horror, as if trying to destroy it would make untrue the fact that one of his royal family was dead. He had known the prince since he was a baby, and to think that just a few months ago, they had enjoyed the birth of the prince's son. Now that son would never know his father…"Oh my God, no…" he breathed and anxiously unbuttoned his blood-stained shirt, not minding that, at the moment, everyone was staring at him. He pulled down the collar of his grubby undershirt and stared down at a place on his chest—a place where a long, deep gash was now raked just below his heart, the one he had disregarded earlier. He stared at it, refusing to believe it, refusing the confirmation. "No… no, no, no! No, I just thought… when it happened… it was just… that I'd just…" He gave a heaving sob as he realized the finality of what had just been said. "Oh, God! No! No, it-it can't be… that goddamned idiot!" Arthur turned from mourning to violent as he picked up anything within reach and began throwing it across the room. Everyone had to duck to avoid the flying objects: a canteen, a spoon, a sweater, the dream catcher. "What did he think he was g-going to accomplish? Fucking idiot! Why? Why did you do it? Why did you leave them? No! No!" His eyes burned and he was angry. Not only was he angry with the prince for throwing away his life so stupidly, but at himself, for letting himself lose control.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Francis lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the back of the anguished Briton, pulling him tightly to him and holding his arms so that he could not throw anything or thrash. Immediately, Arthur let out an angry sob and tried to wrench himself free, kicked and wriggled until they lay on their sides. "G-get off of me, FUCKING FROG!"

"Shh, be still, cher." Francis crooned, holding Arthur's arms more securely. "Be still, be still…"

Eventually, Arthur stopped thrashing, reduced to soft whimpers. He turned his face, hiding it in his sleeping bag. Francis, meanwhile, kept his arms wrapped around Arthur, murmuring comforting words into his ear. But the Brit only shook his head, letting a choked sob slip here and there.

Alfred wanted to say something, but the words were caught in his throat. He cast a worried glance toward Matthew to see that the Canadian was shaking his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. Alfred was about to ask what he was so worked up about, when he remembered that Matthew was very close to the family as well and quickly shut his mouth.

After a while, when Arthur's sobs had subsided and he just lay there and sniffing stuffily, surprisingly tolerant of Francis still holding him from behind, Kiku stood, crossed the room to where the radio had been thrown against the wall and said quietly, "I do not think we should listen to the radio anymore." And he walked over to the kitchen, turning the radio off and placing it in the dusty cabinet. He then calmly returned to his sleeping bag, gracefully stepping over those whose sleeping bags lay in between him and his destination, laying down and turning his back to them, muttering a soft, "Goodnight."

* * *

After that single utterance from Kiku, the rest decided that it was best to slip off to sleep. The rain pounded on the roof and window outside, creating a seductive lullaby that eventually soothed most of them into slumber. Arthur, too exhausted to fight, fell asleep in Francis's arms. Feliciano had taken some convincing, as he too had started crying, but Ludwig ordered him to sleep (much to Lovino's displeasure) and he did. The rest had dropped off shortly after that. The only ones who remained awake were Alfred, Kiku (he feigned sleeping until he could hear that all the rest of his group had fallen asleep), and Ivan.

All of them had important things on their minds. Alfred's was of what he heard today on the radio, not only of Arthur's country, but of his own. Would he ever be able to restore order? How could he when his capital was nearly destroyed? How long would it be until _his _leader would be found dead somewhere, possibly also hacked to pieces, virtually unrecognizable?

Kiku's extended toward security. From what he heard today, it would be hard for any large group of people to get around unnoticed. He was trying to figure out ways to continue to conceal themselves without having to resort to living in the forest.

Ivan's mind stretched back to Russia, where his sisters lay dead in unmarked graves. When would he get back home? When would the world finally burn itself out and take it with him into the void from which new life sprang? He wanted it to be over, but he also wanted, now, for those who still clung to the old ways (as he had heard on the radio) to live, because he would do anything to help them. Sure, the old regime may be toppled, but that didn't mean he didn't care about the fate of his people. He had been wrong to think that he didn't matter anymore. It was hard to admit. But he needed to have faith in those still fighting—fighting for _him_. How could he have been so selfish? _Hmpf, not as selfish as Amerika, at least_. he mused as he drifted off to sleep, his arms folded, laying on his side, his ears still alert.

It seemed like he had been asleep for five minutes, before Ivan smelled something that made him sit bolt upright. He sniffed again, unsure of what he had smelled. Then his eyes rolled to the flash of orange light and heat coming from the kitchen.

"Пожар…" he muttered in disbelief. Then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks in the face. He stood, raising his voice. "Пожар! Fire! Fire!"

Kiku was already on his feet and rousing those next to him. "China-sama! Ludwig-san! Feliciano-chan!"

Arthur sat up when Ivan shook him. He peered groggily up at him, then his eyes widened at the sight of the bright red flames licking the walls just outside the kitchen. "Oh, shit!" He quickly got to his feet and looked around. Francis had crawled back over to his own sleeping bag and was just starting to wake up. "Get your arse moving, frogface, or it'll get burned!"

Francis got to his feet, casting a glance at the fire. "Merde, il ne peut pas être…"

Sadiq began to roll up his sleeping bag. "Don't just stare! Move!"

"Al?" Matthew was shaking his brother, but Alfred only shook off his hand and continued dozing on, not hearing or smelling a thing. The smoke was starting to get to him and panic seized him. "Dammit, Alfred, wake up! Wake up!"

Alfred finally rolled over. "Hmm, what? What's the big—?" He stared at the fire now moving to the ceiling. "Holy crap! When did that happen?"

"When you were so kindly ignoring my shouts." Ivan replied, hefting his backpack over his shoulder. He went to speak again, but his eyes suddenly burned and he coughed and couldn't catch his breath. Alfred and Matthew watched, horrified, as the Russian collapsed to the floor.

"Ru—Ivan, what the hell are you doing? We need to get the fuck out of here, man!" Alfred said, crawling over and shaking him.

Ivan caught him by the wrist and looked up at him. "I'm not finished yet, Alfred." Then he turned and shouted, "Everyone, get down on the floor! Do not breathe in the smoke!"

"Ve? Lu-Ludwig, I'm scared!"

"Hush, Feli, and get down!"

"Don't you tell my brother what to do, potato bastard!" There was a rough smack.

"You fucking dumbass!" came Gilbert's voice. "Why do you always have to start fights in the worst of situations. Come here, I'll help you."

But Lovino seemed frozen to the spot, watching the flames stretch out above them. "D-dammit… fuck…"

Gilbert huffed and pulled the Italian over to him. "Why do I always have to save your scrawny ass?"

Alfred suddenly sat up, frantically looking around. "Marge! Marge! Oh, my God! Baby, where are you? Answer me!" He felt around him, but her sleeping bag was no longer there.

Then Yao coughed and pointed, "L-look dumbass…"

The state had opened the door and was standing, a cloth over her face, eyes wet and burning as she beckoned them out. "Come on! Everybody out! It must have been the lightning from the storm! Move it!"

The first ones out were Feliciano and Ludwig as they made a run through the smoke, breaths held. Next came Lovino and Gilbert, the Prussian tugging Lovino along. Then it was Kiku, closely followed by Yao. Sadiq had a smug smile on his face as he exited after them (yes, he had defeated Yao at the bravery game!). Francis was pulling Arthur out with him, both casting anxious glances toward Matthew and Alfred, who still lay on the floor. Ruby Red rushed out behind them, tail between her legs and whining.

Alfred turned to Matthew as the fire began to burn across half of the room. "Mattie, go! Please go, I'll be right behind you!"

But Matthew remained rooted to the spot. "No, Al. I don't believe you. I know what you're going to do. I won't let you!" And he grabbed the front of his brother's clothes and began pulling him toward the door. Finally, they both reached the door, but Alfred pushed Matthew out before he could grab him again. "Al!" Matthew turned around, intending to plunge back into the cabin, but Marge grabbed him around the waist and pulled him toward the forest.

"No, Uncle Mattie, he'll be fine."

"No, he won't! He's such a dumbass! What is he doing? He'll be killed!"

"I trust him, Mattie." Marge said, looking at him. "Don't you?"

Matthew didn't answer as he stopped struggling to retreat and watch the cabin burn.

Inside the cabin, Alfred was now dashing toward the flames in the kitchen. The room was an inferno, and sweat rolled down his face as he opened each scalding cabinet with his gloved hands, searching for what he knew they needed. Even though the scalding wood and knobs were burning right through the leather, he continued looking until he found it.

He grabbed the object and stuffed it into his coat pocket moments before something grabbed him from behind. Alfred gave a startled yelp as he was dragged out of the kitchen and back into the living room, watching the roof of the kitchen cave in where he stood. But he couldn't thank his rescuer, he had no time to (plus, he was the hero, he didn't need rescuing), as the person dragging him by the underarms kicked open the front door and pulled him through it. Not until he was halfway to the safety of the trees, did Alfred catch a glimpse of who was holding him.

Violet eyes angrily bore into his. "не Вы есть мозг в голове, da? When there is a fire, you run, глупый свиньи!" And he dropped him harshly on the ground at Matthew's feet.

Alfred peered up. "Hey, Mattie."

Matthew appeared stony-faced. He reached down to help Alfred up, but instead of embracing him like Alfred thought he would, he slapped him. Alfred held his pulsing cheek. "Hey, bro, what's up? Chill out!"

"Chill out?!" Matthew growled, landing him another slap to the face. "You think I'll just 'chill out' after that stupid little stunt you just pulled?"

"Well… yeah." Alfred said with a lopsided smile.

Matthew slapped him again. "Dammit, Al, what is wrong with you? Were you dropped on your head or something when you were young? Because your instincts are fucked up!"

"He was not!" Arthur called from across the clearing. Then added, "But he did hurt himself a lot. Give him one from me, lad!"

"Gladly," Matthew slapped him again and Alfred had the sense to back away this time. "If Ivan hadn't decided to save your sorry, stupid ass, I doubt you'd still be here! Did you even _think _about your states? What they would go through if you died?"

Alfred at last appeared guilty and looked away. "No… dammit, I'm such a screw up."

"Sometimes, Al," Matthew said and Alfred winced, expecting a slap that never came. "But I know you always do something recklessly dangerous for a good reason. So, what did you get?"

Alfred smiled slightly and rummaged in his pocket, pulling out the object he had gone back for. "I got the radio, Mattie. We have to know what's going on in the world somehow."

"We'd better move on," Ivan said, studying the now flame-enveloped house. "That fire will surely spread."

"Right," Marge said, leading them into the forest. "Follow me. That fire will stretch miles before long."

Everyone followed her, running for a mile or two, before finally feeling it was safe enough to walk.

"Yep, I was right." Marge said, stopping to survey the sky against which a plume of smoke rose. "It's gotten closer. We shouldn't linger long here. I know a place that—" Her focus became directed to Alfred who was slumping against a tree and coughing. "Dad? You've been coughing ever since we left the cabin. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep," Alfred replied between coughs. "If—cough—Ivan can—cough—live, I—cough—will."

"I appreciate the reverence, Alfred." Ivan said. "But I have only just stopped coughing."

"What? I—cough—haven't heard—cough—you cough—cough—at all!"

"That's because I was trying not to disturb my other group members."

Arthur walked over to Alfred, arms folded. "Ivan, no offense, but you should tell someone when you're sick or hurting so we know that we need to treat you. Look at me, Alfred. Now open your mouth." Alfred did as he was told and Arthur sighed. "Your throat has turned a bit gray from the smoke. I suspect your lungs are in the same condition." He then flashed a glance at Matthew. "Matthew, have you anything to treat smoke inhalation?"

The Canadian swore. "No, Arthur. Only oxygen can help that."

"Damn, well, you'll just have to rest, then." He looked at Ivan. "And that means you too, Ivan. I don't suspect this is an extreme case, you'll live if anything. You just got lucky."

"He's _too_ lucky." Ivan grumbled as he sat, back leaning against a tree and coughed aloud for the first time. "Perhaps I should have just let his ass burn in that cabin. Da, that would have taught him a lesson, would it not?"

Lovino suddenly groaned and slid down the trunk of the nearest tree, holding his injured shoulder. "Ah… I think that potato bastard tore something when he pulled me out of that cabin, dammit."

"Well sor-ree, princeling," Gilbert sneered. "I thought that a little pain in your arm was better than being burned alive. Excuse me and my awesome rescue skills."

"Oh, right," Ludwig said, walking over to him and kneeling down. "We still need to get that bullet out. Here, let me see—"

"No! Get your wurst hands off of me, bastard!"

"Lovino," Matthew sighed. "We need to get that bullet out of your shoulder. If it stays in there much longer, there might be a good chance that you could lose it."

"Lose it?" Lovino muttered fearfully. He didn't protest when Ludwig began poking around his shoulder and peeling off the bandage.

"Oh… Matthew, do you have a stitch kit and some tweezers? I think all that pulling my bruder did actually moved the bullet up through his shoulder a bit."

Gilbert laughed nearby. "Told you I was awesome, kesesese!"

Matthew handed him his needed supplies and leaned down to address Lovino. "Lovino, listen to me. This is going to hurt. And I'm sorry that it will, but you have to bear through it as quietly as possible. We don't know who might have seen that fire."

Lovino nodded, biting his lip. "Just… just get it over with, bastard. I'm tired of waiting."

"Okay, I'm starting now." Ludwig placed the tweezers at the wound in the Italian's shoulder. Lovino tensed in anticipation.

Lovino couldn't help it. He let out a yell, but then remembered he had to be quiet or worse things could happen and suppressed himself to pained whimpers. It felt like the bastard was attempting to sever his arm from the rest of his body by the shoulder. His eyes burned and tears streamed down his face. He ducked his head, wishing so much he could cry out, but then someone took his hand and squeezed. He looked up. "Fe-Feliciano?"

Feliciano nodded and squeezed his hand again. "I'm here for you, big brother. You can hold my hand as tight as you want. I won't mind."

Lovino did, and he hoped he was not crushing his brother's fingers, because that's what it felt like. He peered up for a moment, and saw Gilbert, a pitying look on his face as he watched his brother dig the bullet out of his flesh. This made Lovino angry and determined not to cry. He did not need that bastard's pity.

"It's out," Ludwig said. "Do you want to see?"

"No, dammit, I don't want to see the fucking thing." Lovino said through gritted teeth, still holding his brother's hand tightly. "Is it over? Can I go?"

"No," Ludwig said. "We still have to stitch up the wound or it might get infected. This will hurt too, Lovino. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, bastard, just do it."

The stitching seemed to take forever, the needle piercing his skin then the burning of the rough stitch going through seemed to reach his whole body and he started to tremble with the strain. He squeezed Feliciano's hand, and kept squeezing until Ludwig said, "Finished," and he got up, taking the kit along with him and leaving the two brothers together, Lovino still grasping Feliciano's hand in his.

Marge ran a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair and sighed. "All right. We'll have to camp here tonight. Someone's going to have to stay up to watch the sky to see if the smoke gets too close."

"What time is it?" Ludwig asked. "Has anyone got a watch?"

Arthur pulled up his sleeve and reported, "2:00 a.m. But, damn, it feels a lot later."

They all laid out their sleeping bags around the little clearing. All, that is, except Alfred, who kept constantly rummaging in his backpack in an anxious sort of way. Matthew sensed his unease and said, "Al? Is there something you forgot?"

Alfred swore and moved from his squatting position to sit cross-legged on the ground. "Damn right I did. I forgot my fucking sleeping bag!"

"Well, it's probably ashes right now, ami." Francis replied, smoothing out his sleeping bag in a jeering sort of way. "But you are most welcome to share with me, chéri." He winked.

Alfred grimaced. "Uh, thanks, but no. I'm not really privy to getting groped in the middle of night. Ya see, I'm more than a little tired."

"'Privy', wow, Alfred has learned a new word. I honestly never thought it possible since my departure." Arthur said as Alfred rolled his eyes. "And stop creeping, frog, or we'll make you sleep in those prickly bushes over there where the wolves can get you." Arthur nodded to a patch of thistles that lingered a few meters away from the camp. "Although I doubt they'd like you. With all the sexual diseases you may have…"

Francis immediately sprung up from his sleeping bag, a scowl on his face. "How dare you think that I am not careful! Despite what you all may think, I _am not _a common whore!"

Yao rolled his eyes. "No, you are _everyone's _whore."

Instead of growling at Yao like he should have, he looked creepily at him. "You're insulting me, amour? You should go through all that I might do to you if you dare speak my faults~"

Yao recoiled a bit.

As everyone settled down in their sleeping bags, Alfred cast desperate looks around. "Aw, c'mon! I'm _sick_,people! Have you no heart?" He made his infamous puppyface.

Arthur snorted as he stretched out in his sleeping bag, arms under his head. "We should probably let you sleep on the hard ground. That might bring down your ego a few notches."

Alfred frowned when he realized his pout wasn't working. "You're cruel, Artie."

"Not as cruel as you, no." Arthur said airily, studying his cuticles indifferently. "May I remind you that it was not I who ripped your heart out after you raised me. Quite the opposite."

There was a tense silence for a moment.

Alfred cast a pleading glance at his other, more merciful brother. "Mattie? I've slept with you a _gazillion _times before. Please?"

Matthew shook his head and Alfred's hopeful smile was instantly extinguished. "Sorry, Al. I've slept with you on many occasions, yes, but that doesn't mean I _like _to. As I so happen to know, you talk and thrash in your sleep. Going on that, no, I want my sleep, thanks."

"Dad?" Marge called from across the clearing. She'd felt guilty about pitching a tent that only she used, so she chose instead to lay out her sleeping bag beneath the trees. "You could share with me. I don't mind."

Alfred smiled, but shook his head. "No, baby, you sleep. You don't need me to keep you awake. I know how I am."

Arthur snorted. "Stupid git. Should have weeded that restlessness out of you when you used to climb into bed with me after having a nightmare."

Alfred turned to him, shouting, "No way, bro! I didn't have any nightmares!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Whatever,"

Alfred then looked at the rest of them. "_Please_? I'll try not to disturb you."

At once, Lovino deadpanned, "No, bastard." And before Feliciano could open his mouth to respond, Lovino said, "And not Feli either. He's too ill, dammit, and so am I."

"Nein, Alfred." Ludwig replied. "I am sorry, but I must be ready to get up if I hear anything. And I cannot do that if you are also in my sleeping bag with me."

"Kesesese!" Gilbert chortled. "Hell no! There's only room for awesome me! Go fish! Kesesese!"

"No way," Sadiq shook his head, arms folded. "I don't swing that way, and I want to keep that as secure a fact as possible."

"No," Yao said. "Americans always living in luxury. Deserve to sleep on ground one night!"

"Mōshiwakearimasen, Alfred-san." Kiku dipped his head to avoid his friend's eyes. "But I go on what Ludwig-san said. I need to be ready…" His eyes darted to his sheathed katana that lay on the ground beside him.

"Ici, amour~!" Francis whistled and gave a slow, seductive wink. "My offer still stands if you will take it."

Alfred gave another grimace. "Uh, no. I thought I already made that clear."

"There is me, da."

Alfred turned, completely horrified to see Ivan raise his hand lazily and smirk. "I am willing to share. You are always saying how much I should be nice, da, Alfred?"

Alfred's eyes darted from Francis to Ivan and back again. So, what would it be? "Hmm, get groped and receive leers from Francis for the rest of this trip, or get strangled to death in the middle of the night? … I think I've made my choice." He got up, bringing his backpack with him and moving to sit by Ivan.

Francis pouted. "Are you sure, amour? You might actually like it~"

"Thanks, but no." Alfred refused to look at Ivan, who was now grinning creepily behind him. "But one thing, though. If you all wake up and find me dead, could you please at least bury me? And, you know, give some awesome speech about my heroicness and stuff…?"

Arthur scoffed and turned over in his sleeping bag. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. We'll be sure to do just that. Now go to sleep."

"Wait!" Marge said. "Who will take the first watch?"

"I will," Ivan volunteered.

_Well, _Alfred reasoned. _At least he'll be out of the sleeping bag… _But just then, Ivan dragged the sleeping bag to the edge of the clearing where the sky and smoke rising in the distance was clearly visible. "This should be good. I can see the sky from here." And he settled down in the sleeping bag. "You are getting in, Alfred, da." It wasn't a question.

Anxiety pricked at his fingers. "Ya know what? I-I could just keep watch…"

"Nyet," Ivan said airily, though there was an underlying dictating tone. "I will do that. You sleep." And he beckoned with his fingers.

Alfred swallowed dryly, slipped off his shoes and clambered in, wanting to remain fully clothed when sleeping beside the Russian. At first, he thought he wouldn't fit (Ivan already took up most of the bag), but he found a spot wedged closely to Ivan's back. He shivered when he felt Ivan's naked torso brush up against him, his freezing skin reaching through his clothes to his own flesh.

Ivan had obviously noticed, as he chuckled. "Goodnight, Alfred~"

Alfred didn't respond, but held his breath as Marge turned off the flashlight, hoping against hope that she wouldn't see him bloodied and unconscious the following morning._ Karma, _Alfred scoffed as he wriggled a bit to get comfortable. He took off his glasses and placed them by his backpack. _This is what I get for pissing him off so much. Figures…_

* * *

Translations:  


Пожар-Fire

Merde, il ne peut pas être-Shit, this cannot be.

не Вы есть мозг в голове-You do not have a brain in your head.

глупый свиньи-Stupid pig

Mōshiwakearimasen-I am sorry

A Word From the Writer: Ohoho, yes, I didn't just make America lose his sleeping bag so he could be annoying. Oh no. All the tension has been leading up to this, folks. Lemon, next chapter.

Until then, you'll be thinking about it, won't you?


	25. How Sweet Dreams Are Made

**One sleeping bag, two horny men, you do the math.  
**

Warning: Lemon, frotting, RusAme (in that order, most definitely), a little fluff, a flip out scene, threats, yatta yatta, you probably aren't even reading this by now for the lemon, I know.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though.

* * *

**How Sweet Dreams Are Made**

Alfred's eyes fluttered open… _again_. Ever since he had 'fallen asleep' an hour ago, he kept waking up. The cause of his restlessness was obvious: He was sleeping beside a rival that had harbored (or was still harboring) a deep urge to kill him a few decades back.

He was about to turn over, when he realized that the Russian had moved since his last doze; Ivan's cold chest was now pressed firmly against Alfred's clothed back. It was all Alfred could do not to give a startled yell or move and risk waking the Russian. But his sudden tension seemed to alert Ivan, and he instantly felt the strong arms snake around his torso and tighten, pulling him close to the other's chest. Alfred tried to get away, but the arms would not yield, and he was forced to lie there, hoping that he would somehow make it through the night without being throttled. Lord knew he had given Ivan plenty of reasons to do so.

Then his heart sped up. He felt the hands move again, slither lower. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Alfred bit his lip as he felt the fingers brush his waistline, venture lower and begin picking at the button of his jeans.

_This isn't happening…_

The button was inched out.

_This isn't happening._

The zipper was pulled down.

_This isn't happening._

Cold fingers brushed against his skin, tugged at the elastic of his shorts.

_This isn't happening!_

Alfred was beginning to regret his decision to choose Ivan over Francis, if he hadn't been already. If he had chosen Francis instead, he reasoned, he would have been groped, yes, but not by his sworn enemy, a former communist nation. And another note: everyone wouldn't be as surprised to find out what had conspired in the night if he had gone with Francis.

Alfred held his breath, too afraid to move. Maybe if he didn't respond the Russian would get bored and leave him alone? But he was far from the truth. Ivan's fingers now crawled downward through his pubes, pausing just above his dick that was responding slightly.

And then Ivan's lips were brushing his ear, his breath making Alfred shiver. "I know that you are awake, Alfred."

His purr made Alfred's cock twitch to life, and the American thought, _Traitor! _

Alfred didn't respond, even though he knew the other man could feel the rapidity of his breathing and the hammering of his heart.

"Alfred~" Ivan whispered. "I know that you can hear me."

Again, Alfred said nothing.

He felt Ivan frown slightly and the hand in Alfred's jeans slipped down to the base of his hardening cock. Alfred took a sharp intake of breath and was sure Ivan heard. Ivan smirked against his ear, grasping with his cold fingers Alfred's arousal and giving it a slow, deep-fisted pump. Immediately, Alfred's cock was standing at full mast, already dripping, anticipating. After so long without jerking off Alfred couldn't control it. Ivan chuckled, the sound going straight to his dick. Alfred tried not to buck his hips into that cold, skilled hand, a hand that knew every way to turn the American on. Ivan gave him a few more pumps before stopping and rubbing his thumb in rough circles at the base of the head, pressing, teasing. Alfred bit his lip. _Dammit…_

When he still didn't respond, Ivan heaved a seductive sigh, his breath assaulting Alfred's ear and released his cock. "Oh, well… this would hardly be enjoyable if you were not awake." And his lips left his ear, his hand slipped halfway out of his pants before Alfred made his decision. He couldn't just lay there with a hard-on and expect to relieve himself when Ivan was so close to him. Plus, it was totally un-herolike to jerk off in the presence of a villain, so…

Alfred's hand suddenly darted to Ivan's which was still halfway inside his pants, fingers tugging at his pubes tantalizingly close to the base of his cock. He held the wrist for a moment or so and then pushed the hand slowly back into his pants. "Don't stop,"

The words were hardly audible, and Alfred wondered for a moment if Ivan had heard him, but the Russian wasted no time in taking up his cock again, his strokes more vigorous than before.

Alfred knew he would regret it, but he let his voice run free, though low in volume as to not wake the others. It wasn't like the Russian had never heard it before; the only difference now was that it was so heroically sexy…

Ivan pulled and squeezed at his length with skilled hands, continuing to chuckle into his ear, sending shudders cascading down Alfred's back. "Hmhm, you are shameful, Alfred. Are you such a slut that you accept the coaxing hands of one who not long ago was your most hated enemy? And in such times, under such conditions as intended rape? Have you no thought of your daughter who sleeps just across the clearing? What if she wakes and finds that we are in the act? Humility, Alfred. You need some desperately, it seems." And he squeezed the American's shaft.

Alfred gasped, but didn't say anything, horrified at the possibility of his daughter waking to find Ivan jerking him off, his cum splattered all over himself and the sleeping bag…

"No response," Ivan growled into his neck. "As always. So paranoid."

Ivan's hand continued to move up his shaft more quickly, almost urgently. Alfred let out a soft moan and pushed back against him, realizing why the Russian was so anxious.

Even through Alfred's jeans, he could feel Ivan's prominent hard-on. So, Alfred wasn't looking so shameful after all, eh? He wanted to voice this, but Ivan seemed to sense his intention and bit his neck harshly, causing Alfred's words to be swallowed by a startled yelp.

Alfred couldn't hold in his moans as Ivan licked the wound, sucking greedily. The American bucked into his hand, his face flooding with warmth. It suddenly seemed that his clothes were too hot and constricting and Alfred longed to take them off, but he thought about how suspicious it would look if everyone else woke up and saw that he had discarded his clothes when sleeping by a supposed enemy.

Ivan's chuckle made Alfred buck into his hand again. "You are feeling… strained, da? So, what will it be, Alfred? Take off your clothing and experience the best orgasm you have had in months, or keep them on and play it safe? Decide quickly, Alfred, you can feel my impatience." He ground his swollen length into Alfred's jean-clad ass as proof.

Alfred gave a helpless groan and didn't know whether to buck up into the hand still stroking him vigorously or grind back against the large cock offered to him.

Then Alfred made his decision. He hastily kicked off his jeans and allowed Ivan to pull down his boxers, the Russian chuckling darkly at his sudden reckless abandon. He could pull his clothes back on afterward. No big deal. Now Alfred pressed his bare ass back against Ivan's arousal, the only thing separating him from the pulsing heat being the thin fabric of Ivan's underwear.

"Mmm," Alfred moaned. "I forgot how big you are."

Ivan half-chuckled half-growled into Alfred's neck, the American's chin tipped upward so that he could gain access to a vaster expanse of skin. "Hmm, I would have thought after feeling it before, one would not be so apt to forget." He bit down again.

Alfred arched into him and moaned. "A-ah… easy. I-I don't want too many. It'll be hard to hide the one you gave me earlier as it is."

Ivan growled and grabbed his hip, forcing him back into the curve of his pelvis, grinding his cock into him, cold fingers digging into Alfred's naked flesh. "I will do what I want to you now that I have you. You know how I like to mark what is mine."

"Yeah, well you did that last time—ah!" Alfred yelped when Ivan bit down once more. "Hey, watch it, dude! Not so close to my jugular. It's freaky."

Ivan bit down again, and Alfred arched his back. "Hm, you like it, da? Besides, I like a sense of danger. It's exciting."

"No," Alfred replied. "It's freaky." He ground against the Russian in spite of himself. "Mmm, oh fuck, yes…"

Ivan growled as he thrust his hips forward, meeting Alfred halfway and grinding his aching cock into the cleft of Alfred's delicious ass. "You want me to fuck you, da? I can feel that you want me…" His hand continued to pump Alfred's leaking cock, increasing his speed. Alfred purred and pushed hard back against him.

"Fuck yes…" Alfred was about to ask Ivan to pull down his shorts, but stopped, casting a wary glance at Marge. "N-no, wait." He turned to face the Russian, pressed chest-to-sweaty-chest. He was almost scared to look up, to meet those violet eyes he knew were burning with lust which would possibly awaken his recklessness or cause him humiliation. "I-I can't. But, fuck, do I want to." He reached down and pulled the waistband of Ivan's shorts away, releasing his massive cock, the sound of it slapping erectly against the Russian's hard stomach making Alfred whimper with want. He ghosted his fingertips up the taut shaft, moaning as the veins pulsed beneath the tight skin.

"We'll just have to do this to get off." Alfred said, giving the Russian's cock a few eager strokes. He could feel Ivan's eyes on him, no doubt enjoying the show he was giving. He gave Ivan a few more pumps before he tugged at his own dick. Then an idea hit him.

Alfred slid forward until they were practically hip-to-hip and grabbed his and Ivan's cocks in one hand, sliding it up and down their shafts. He heard Ivan purr and his hands trailed over Alfred's side and found his ass, squeezing his cheeks and making Alfred moan and buck into him.

"I could do it this way," Ivan whispered, prodding at his pulsing hole with one icy finger. "if you want."

"No," Alfred said breathlessly. "I'd be too-too sore… they'd know I was…" But his last words were lost as the Russian pressed him flush against his cold chest—a welcome reprieve from the heat of lust.

"Very well," Ivan said, his hands moving under Alfred's shirt and to his chest, fingers tweaking his pert nipples, making the American gasp. "Then you have to do the work."

Alfred felt like making a retort, but he could feel his orgasm coming on. He sped up his strokes, loving the feel of Ivan's hard-on against his own, how he could feel the pulsing veins, feel every aroused twitch…

"So close…" Alfred tipped his head back, allowing Ivan to plunder his neck with his lips, tongue, and teeth. "Oh, fuck, I-Ivan…"

"Mmm, come for me, шлюха." Ivan groaned, thrusting up into the hand that was still pumping him, sucking at a soft spot in the crook between Alfred's collarbone and neck.

Alfred bit his lip to keep from crying out as he came hard and hot into his own hand, hips bucking uncontrollably against Ivan's own hard length, hand still stroking. The orgasm was never ending; he felt as if he'd had his first sip of water for months. Ecstasy was rolling through him in waves, and he was sure this was the best orgasm he'd had since before the Uprising. He was so absorbed in his pleasure, that he barely noticed Ivan grunting, his heavy breaths against his bitten neck, as he came in hot, wet spurts onto Alfred's hand.

Afterward, they lay there for a moment, reveling in the much-needed afterglow. Alfred didn't even notice his hand was still moving softly over their throbbing lengths, until Ivan stalled his hand and took it into his, cradling it against his chest which was still heaving. Alfred finally turned his head up to look at Ivan, his violet eyes half-lidded and dark.

Alfred wanted so much to sleep, but he knew he had to clean up. "I-I have to… this mess…" He took back his hand from Ivan and began to move his discarded clothes around, but Ivan quickly pinned his arms to his side.

"It is almost sunrise." he whispered, the huskiness gone from his voice. He nodded to the east where surely the sun was making its way into the sky, casting a grayish hue to the horizon.

Alfred looked back up at Ivan. "But… but, I have to…"

"Shh, малютка." he said. "You must sleep." And he kissed Alfred's forehead and hugged him to his chest, rubbing circles in his tired back. "Sleep, little one."

Alfred was too tired to protest or even think what weird behavior this was for Ivan. Even though Alfred had barely slept that night, he found now, strangely, that sleep beckoned to him and he tumbled into darkness and dreams, undisturbed with Ivan's arms around him.

* * *

"Huh, that's weird."

_A voice that stuffy can only belong to one person… _Alfred opened his eyes a crack and saw Arthur standing not far from him, examining an empty sleeping bag.

"Where could frogface have gone? It's too early in the morning for any of us to be awake. Then again, we could just pack up and go and perhaps he'll never find us again." Arthur gave a triumphant laugh. "Hahahaha, that would do wonders for the lot of us! Ahahaha!"

Alfred wanted to investigate too (he was nosy like that), but he suddenly remembered he was naked from the waist down. He quickly pulled on his pants, trying not to wriggle too much and alert Ivan who was dozing like a bear beside him. Alfred hoped Arthur hadn't noticed that Ivan had been sleeping with his arms around him.

"What's the matter, bro?" Alfred was doing up the button of his pants as he stood.

Arthur turned to him, quickly composing himself. "Oh, Alfred, I didn't know you were awake. Did you hear my news?" His face broke out into a wide smile. "Frogface is gone! Hurry, wake the others and we'll be out of here in no time! He'll never know we left without him! Hahaha!" He had a slightly manic gleam in his eyes, excitement pulsing through him.

"Take it easy, man. It's too early to move stuff. And no one's even woken up yet." Alfred cast looks around at each sleeping bag. "Are you sure Francis didn't just climb into someone else's—OHMYGODWHATTHEFUCKINGHELL?!"

Arthur jumped and everyone in the clearing was woken, shouting out their annoyances. But Alfred was too busy to notice. He was currently staring down at his daughter's empty sleeping bag in horror.

"Oh no," Arthur said, coming up behind him. "Alfred, I'm sure she must be somewhere nearby… look, she's taken her rifle with her, she should be safe—"

But Alfred didn't respond as he began searching the forest around the clearing, calling out, "Marjorie? Montana? Baby, where are you? Please, tell me if you're there!"

"Calm down, Al." Matthew was saying, but Alfred ignored him, continuing to search.

A few more seconds passed before a figure stumbled into the clearing. "You called, ami?" Francis gave a charming smile, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Immediately, Alfred stormed toward him.

"Al…" Matthew's warning intensified as Alfred grabbed Francis by the front of his shirt and backed him toward a tree. "Al! Stop!"

But Alfred didn't stop. He pinned Francis to the trunk and held him there, one arm on his shoulder, the other arm bent, pressed into the Frenchman's throat. "Where is she?"

Francis's eyes were wide. "W-what do you mean?"

Alfred pulled him away and slammed him back against the trunk again. "Don't lie to me. _Don't lie to me_!"

"Alfred!" Arthur called out. "Calm down!"

"Not until he tells me where she is!"

"Where _who_ is, ami?" Francis asked meekly.

"You know who it is!" Alfred said, still angry. "Don't play dumb! I know you've been screwing around with my daughter!"

Francis's eyes widened. "No, no, ami! Never! What would make you think—?"

"A whole fucking number of things!" Alfred growled, now nose-to-nose with the Frenchman. Then he lowered his voice to a dangerous pitch, "Don't. Lie. To. Me. I don't much like the sneaking around you've been doing. And you did it last night in the cabin too. I saw it!"

Francis's eyes widened even more. "B-but, I was only checking to see if the radio was still working…"

Alfred slammed him into the tree again. "Didn't I already tell you not to lie to me?"

"Al!"

"Shut up, Mattie. I'm busy."

"I-I do not understand!" Francis said. "I didn't do anything to Marge. I never touched her!"

Alfred's voice dropped, but not so much that the rest of the camp couldn't hear it. "If you so much as _touched_ her—"

"Dad?"

Marge was pushing her way into the camp. Alfred quickly released Francis, shoving him away. He rushed over to his daughter, wrapping his arms around her and casting the dirtiest look he could muster toward Francis, who stood, bewildered, off to the side.

"Oh, baby, where were you? Why did you go out so early without telling anyone?"

"I told Francis where I was going."

Alfred glared at Francis once again.

Marge looked nonplussed. "Was there something… you two were doing before I got here?"

Alfred quickly turned back to her. "What? No, no! Hey…" He now surveyed her for the first time. "Did you cut your hair?"

Marge snorted, pushing her short bangs behind her ears, her brown hair now styled in a short ponytail. "Obviously, Dad. I went down to the river so that I could see myself. It's not far from here. I just figured it was getting too long. It would get in the way. Hell, it almost caught fire yesterday."

"And did you see… Francis at all?"

Marge raised a suspicious eyebrow. "No… but I saw him before I left. He said that he was going to gather some berries he saw while running through the forest yesterday. He said he just thought he'd pick some for breakfast… um, Dad?" Alfred was now staring at Francis, his anger lightened a bit, but his gaze was still venomous. "What happened? Was there trouble or something?"

"No," Alfred replied. "No, just tell me next time when you'll be going somewhere, okay?"

"Right, sorry."

"And make sure you go with someone else." Alfred flashed a look at Francis that obviously meant 'don't you dare try to volunteer.' "We can't be sure if this forest is safe."

Marge scoffed. "Dad, I can handle myself perfectly fine. See," She swung her deer rifle around to her front, the gun hanging in a sling. "Besides, you shouldn't be worried about me. I've lived for almost all my life in the wild. It's you who you should be worrying about."

Alfred ignored her last comment. "Yeah, just make sure you go with someone, all right? I want your back covered."

Marge sighed with annoyance and turned to walk back to her sleeping bag. "Whatever."

"Well," Alfred turned to everyone else. "What are you all staring at?"

Arthur flashed him a malicious look while Matthew sighed and shook his head. "So melodramatic, Al…"

"Ivan?" Marge had finished packing her sleeping bag and was now staring questioningly at the Russian.

Ivan cast her a glance from his place bent over his sleeping bag. Alfred was sitting a little ways away, trying to ignore the lecherous looks he was getting from Ivan when he came across a splattering of cum hidden from everyone else's oblivious eyes. "Da?"

"Did you see any smoke while you were on watch?"

Ivan stiffened, and Alfred smiled smugly. He had shirked his guard duty to have sex with him. Ha! "Nyet. I did not see any."

"Good," Marge nodded and sat cross-legged on the ground and began loading her rifle. "Who did you wake up for watch next?"

Ivan paused before saying, "Alfred. I figured it would only be fair since I was letting him share my sleeping bag." And he gave Alfred another lecherous smirk.

"Dad? Did you see anything?"

"No, nothing at all, sweetheart."

"There's a town nearby." she went on, cocking her rifle and putting it back in its sling over her shoulder. "We're running low on supplies. And we haven't eaten much. That survival food is barely edible anyway. Feli's weak and Gilbert and Lovino are injured. We'll need some medicine too."

"Humph," Ludwig walked over to his older brother. "I forgot." He rolled up Gilbert's shirt (much to the Prussian's displeasure) and huffed. "Verdammt. You must have strained your back while pulling Lovino out of that cabin."

Gilbert glanced back over his shoulder. "It can't be that bad. I feel awesome, kesese!" He winced as Ludwig ran a finger softly down one scar. "Dammit. I think I can still feel some glass in there. Fucking splinters…"

"I have a pair of tweezers." Matthew said, about to dig them out of the first aid kit.

"No," Yao said. "I've seen this kind of wound before." He said it with a sadness that indicated he was referring to his lost loved ones. "We have to wait until we get some disinfectant before we risk trying to get the glass shards out. If we don't he might be at risk for infection."

"Well, I fucking don't want that." Gilbert said, darting away from Ludwig and hastily pulling his shirt down. "Is it bad?"

"You reopened some of your scabs." Ludwig reported. "Your bandages are soaked with dried blood."

Gilbert winced again. "So that's why it feels so unawesome back there…"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "When are we leaving?"

"Now," said Marge. "The earlier we get there, the best chances we have of not running into anyone who might have the same idea."

"Ve~But I'm hungry." Feliciano's stomach rumbled.

"I know you are, Feli." Arthur replied. "But we can't afford to linger around here. Francis, you said you gathered some berries?"

Francis nodded. "And some pine nuts as well." He took out a small bag.

… which Ludwig quickly snatched up. "These look… okay." he said after studying them a little.

Francis snatched the bag back with offense and offered it to Feliciano. "Here. Eat these."

"Ve…" Feliciano looked worried. "But, aren't you hungry too?"

"Oui, but you are sick." Francis replied. "You need this more than we do."

Lovino sidled up next to him. "You're going to share those, right?"

Feliciano smiled at him. "Of course, Lovi~!"

"We have to eat on the run." Kiku said. "Everyone make sure you have your weapons at the ready." His hand went to rest on the hilt of his katana.

Sadiq nodded. "I'll bring up the back of the group. I say the weaker ones stay in the middle."

"Right, that sounds good." Marge looked around and motioned for the Italians to come first. "Come here, you two. And you too, Gilbert."

The Italies came without protest. It appeared like they were afraid if they didn't get there fast enough, someone else would take their places.

But Gilbert put his hands on his hips. "What? Nein! The awesome me must be near the front. Ja, I will not settle for less."

"Then I'll have to make sure you stay in the middle, da?" Ivan said, smiling creepily.

Gilbert immediately when stark white. "N-nein, I'll go in the middle."

"Wise choice, Gilbert." Ivan smirked.

"I'll lead the group, then!" Alfred said before catching Marge's eye. "Uh, well… I _do _have to know where I'm going…"

"In that case, _I'll _lead."

In the end, Marge, Alfred, Arthur, Kiku, and Ludwig were in the front, while Yao, Sadiq, Matthew, and Ivan took up the rear.

* * *

Translations:  


шлюха-slut

малютка-little one

A Word From the Writer: Whoa there. America got his testosterone going berserk for a little while there (most likely from he and Ivan's little stint in the dark, cough cough). But, really, France, no matter how creepy he is, is not a rapist. A pervert, yes. A romantic, most definitely. But a rapist, never. You will see just how much he loathes it later on in the story.

Next chapter, ho!


	26. Speed Shopping

**This whole chapter sounds like some video game: first one to get enough food from the store without dying wins!  
**

Warning: Angst, violence, weapons, someone gets shot (I'm gonna let that annoy you until you get to that part), some jibes at American food and imitations, America insults England (though not knowingly).

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though.

* * *

**Speed Shopping **

It was an hour and a half before they finally reached the small town. Long before then, the Italies had finished the berries and nuts. Everyone was hungry and exhausted, but Marge refused to let them take a break. "We have to keep going." she said. "It's eight in the morning. Whoever's hiding near here along with us are going to be here soon if we don't hurry."

After walking very cautiously throughout the town, Marge finally had them stop outside a small supermarket.

"I'm going to check if there's anyone already in there—"

"No," said Alfred. "I'll go in. I don't want you to get hurt."

Marge rolled her eyes, but she had to deal with this all day, so she said, "All right. Go in first if you like and tell us what you see."

Alfred disappeared around the corner and through the doors, the glass absent after being shattered by many customers before them.

Five minutes later, he returned. "I've scoured the whole building. No one's here."

"_Yet_," Marge corrected. "But they will be, come noon."

"We'd better speed shop, then." Matthew said. "Careful. There's glass on the floor."

They all stepped through the door frames and immediately grimaced.

The smell was overwhelming. Rotting vegetables, fruits, and meats could make anyone queasy. Feliciano had to force the bile down from his throat as he walked in. The meat smelled so bad, they were forced to walk in a wide circle around the whole section.

"God, that smells like something died." Alfred said, nearly gagging into the back of his hand.

"I do not smell anything." Ivan said and they all looked at him in alarm. He shrugged. "What? I do not know what you are all talking about."

Matthew cleared his throat. "Anyway… we need to grab some canned foods. Sure, it may not be as good as fresh, but at least it won't rot within a couple hours. And there's canned meat too…"

"Is there pasta?" Feliciano asked hopefully.

Matthew shrugged. "Not canned, but the noodles last for a while and there is canned sauce, so yeah, I guess."

Feliciano gave a wide smile and immediately darted off for the pasta aisle.

"I'd better make sure he doesn't hurt himself. Damn idiot." And Lovino darted after him.

"We'll have to get plenty of fruits and vegetables." Arthur said, picking up the nearest can and examining it. "Trust me. You don't want scurvy."

"Scurvy? Dude, what's that?" Alfred was barely comprehensible as he munched on chips. He suddenly stopped, grimacing at the bag. "Ick… these are stale."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "That's because they're past the expiration date, git. And scurvy is what you get when you don't have enough vitamin C, which normally comes with not eating many fruits or vegetables for a long period of time. I got it often when I was a pirate. We couldn't properly store anything that wasn't either pickled or dried." Arthur began stuffing various canned foods into his bag. "It's a wonder you haven't got it, Alfred."

"Hey! Hamburgers can have lots of stuff on it, not just the patty!"

"Whatever, Alfred…" The argument was hopeless anyway, as Arthur had known from many similar arguments they'd had in the past.

"I'll guard the door." Marge said and started off for the front of the store.

"No!" Alfred yelled a bit too loudly. "Come back here. Sadiq and Yao will go."

Marge looked miffed as she sulkily made her way back to stand idly beside her father while Sadiq and Yao raced each other to the doors.

Ivan, meanwhile, was examining the snack aisle. "постыдный." he said as he read the ingredients for a bag of Cheetos. "How striking. It's a wonder that everyone in this country did not die from diabetes and high cholesterol before the Uprising."

"Shut up, commie! My food is awesome! _Way _better than Artie's."

"Belt up about my food, will you?" Arthur warned. "And stop standing there and eating everything in the vicinity. Grab something and be useful!"

"Okay! Okay! Sheesh!"

Kiku turned into the Asian aisle and was surveying the food there. "These imitations are… creative."

"Thanks, Kik!" Alfred called.

"… creatively disgusting…" Kiku muttered under his breath, setting the package of Yakisoba back on its respected shelf.

"Stop looking around and grab what you can!" Arthur said in frustration. "What time is it anyway?"

Marge looked at her wristwatch. "About 10:00. We need to hurry."

"Right," Alfred said, now beginning to collect cans in earnest.

"Ah, I'm all full." Arthur said, hefting his backpack over his shoulder. "Erg… well, at least it will give me a good workout."

"Hey, man, I could carry it for you." Alfred said, his backpack bulging with supplies held lightly in his hand, another slung over his other shoulder.

Arthur stared for a moment before growling, "Absolutely not! You'll probably drop it or… something."

Marge snatched the extra bag off her father's shoulder. "Tch. I told you, I can carry it myself!"

"I just wanted to make sure you could handle it." Alfred said, pouting.

"I'm not weak, Dad." Marge snapped. "When are you going to realize that? When are you going to start treating me like Penny, or Terax, or even Red?"

"I don't think I can." Alfred said. "You're my baby. And you're still so young."

"Alexei and Kalola are younger than me! The youngest, in fact!"

"And I treat them like babies too. Though, I'm stricter about gun use." He eyed her rifle as if it would suddenly explode. "Honestly, when I saw you get that rifle for Christmas, I was mortified." He glared at Matthew.

"What?" Matthew retorted. "It was what she wanted! And she'd been shooting my crossbow. It isn't that different."

"She was eight!"

"And she was responsible and talented." Matthew said with finality. "I don't regret giving it to her."

"Yeah, Dad, just think." Marge said. "If Mattie hadn't of given me this rifle, I wouldn't be as confident as I am now. Nor would I know how to get around in the forest. I wouldn't have ever found you!"

Alfred frowned sadly. "I don't know. Maybe it's because you _are _so grown up. I mean, you're not Moriah anymore… I feel like you're growing up too fast, that you're too independent."

"Dad," Marge sighed. "I'm a hundred and twenty-three years old. I ought to know what I'm doing by now."

"Eh, well that's nothing." Alfred said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. "I mean, just look how ridiculously old Iggy is! And he still doesn't know how to stop fighting with Francis."

"He gets what he bloody well deserves!" Arthur flashed back at him. "If I didn't say something when he did something I didn't like, he'd be trying to molest you all in your sleep!"

Francis frowned. "So cruel, amour."

"I can be as cruel as I want, frogface! And you," He pointed accusingly at Alfred. "You fight with Ivan as much as I fight with Francis. The only difference is that we don't actually attempt to _kill _each other as well as the rest of the world!"

Francis smiled. "That's good to know. At least now when I fight with you, I know you won't have the guts to kill me. Ahonhonhon!"

"I will if you don't shut your—!" Arthur's last words were muffled as a hand closed over his mouth. He thrashed and shouted into the hand until Sadiq whispered, "Yao and I heard something around the store. It's getting closer."

They were all silent for a moment, hearing a soft scuffling just outside.

Suddenly, Yao ran over to them, wok in hand. "They're coming in."

They stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. Then, Marge whispered, "Scatter!"

Kiku and Yao paired off, running toward the Asian aisle. Sadiq ran after them following a brief decision. Ivan took off to the meat section, no one daring to follow him. Ludwig pulled Feliciano into the wine aisle. Lovino silently protested at not being allowed to follow, thrashing and kicking as Gilbert forced the Italian to follow him the into toilet paper and paper towel section, most of which was nearly cleaned out. Francis grabbed Matthew by the wrist and ran with him to crouch behind a register. Alfred tried to follow them, but Arthur, knowing they would be spotted sooner if they were all grouped together, tugged Alfred to the cereal aisle, Alfred in turn pulling Marge along with him. Ruby looked between Matthew and Marge for a second, before darting into the aisle with Marge.

"… fuckin' thought I heard someone in here."

"You're always hearing things, Dave."

"Shut up, you two." It was a woman's voice. "We won't ever know if Dave heard something or not if you don't be quiet."

There was silence, then: "Roxie, you're just as crazy as Dave. I don't hear nothin'."

"Fucking shut up already, Jim! I'm trying to listen!"

Both men _oooh_ed. "Must be her time of the month." Jim said to Dave.

"It will be if you guys don't keep quiet, goddammit!"

"Okay, okay! Hormonal much?"

There was silence for five whole minutes, the nations holding their breaths. Francis was currently forcing Matthew further beneath the register as the three people walked past.

"Nothin', Rox, just like I toldja."

Roxie snorted. "Whatever. You said that the last time we got jumped here."

"Yeah," Jim replied. "But I've got a gun this time." The cocking echoed around the store, making all the nations flinch.

"Oh, don't give me that crock o' crap." Roxie retorted. "We have one gun between us—"

"And a knife." added Dave.

"And a knife," Roxie amended. "Tell me, how the hell are we supposed to defend ourselves if say _thirteen _people were here?"

All the nations tensed.

"I'm not blowin' smoke up your ass here, but I am a pretty good shot." Jim said.

Roxie scoffed, but didn't reply. She was currently lingering around the register that was hiding Francis and Matthew. Ivan was watching them closely, AK-47 out and loaded.

"Hey, you don't suppose there's still any money in these?" Roxie was eyeing the cash register greedily.

She was about to lean over to force it open, Francis and Matthew holding their breaths, when Dave said, "Nah, I doubt it. The vultures that cleaned this place out before probably got it all. Besides, the old money system don't matter now. It's just barter."

"More like posin' death threats if ya don't get whatcha want."

"Oh," Roxie said and continued on her way. Ivan lowered his gun. "Are you talking about that… what're they called… Organization Coup?"

"Partly," Dave replied, now currently examining some rotten vegetables. "Though all those who're still true to the system probably swept in here after them to pick up what they left behind."

Jim scoffed. "I don't give a damn which side I'm on or not. I just wanna survive until the government's back up and runnin' again."

"Agreed," Roxie said.

"There's always the worry that some tyrant will put himself as the head." Dave said.

"Eh, we can do somethin' about him when he comes to power." Jim replied. "Depending on how many people we can gather who believe in the old system. That is, if they ain't all killed beforehand."

"And what if the tyrant isn't so bad?" Roxie asked.

"Well, then he wouldn't be called a tyrant, now would he?" Dave said.

Roxie scoffed. "Smartass,"

Dave was now sweeping close to where Ivan was crouched behind a shelf of potatoes.

"Well, it's official, Rox." Jim said. "There's nobody here. So go do what you're gonna do and hurry. Them vultures will be here again in no time."

"Yeah, I know." Roxie replied with annoyance. "I watched them come here and raid the store countless times. We'll be lucky if there's anything left." And she headed off further into the store.

"Hey! And remember to get some canned meat. I don't feel much like huntin' today!"

"Yeah, yeah…"

She walked past the aisles, not bothering to look into them, intent upon her destination, not noticing the nations who tried to crush themselves onto the long, empty shelves or against a wall.

Then, she turned into the toilet paper aisle. "Finally, some rolls." she muttered to herself. "We were pushing our last one. Thank God we won't have use leaves or something."

She reached up to pluck a roll off the topmost shelf when she heard something scrape the floor softly behind her. She wheeled around, opening her mouth to cry out when a hand went over it. A knife was held against her throat.

"Struggle and I'll cut you." Gilbert hissed into her ear and forced her onto her knees and ordered her to cram herself into the empty, lowermost shelf. Lovino was breathing heavily and shaking behind Gilbert laying on the opposite bottom shelf, trying hard to suppress frightened whimpers.

"Be quiet, Lovino!" Gilbert whispered, still holding his knife to the woman's neck.

Lovino swallowed and shook his head. "They'll know! They'll find us! Dammit!"

"I said be quiet, idiot!"

"Hey, Rox! Be sure to get some condoms too! That girl back at camp looks like she wants me." Jim shouted, then was silent. "Rox?"

Dave was moving closer and closer to Ivan. Just a couple more steps, and he'd turn a corner and find him crouched there. But he was too busy looking around for his friend. "Rox! Hey, Roxie?" He paused, listening.

"Ah! I see, you don't like me screwing around with your friend!" Jim said, laughing. "But, I tell ya, Rox, she's givin' me vibes. Honestly, it's not my fault."

Silence.

"Where'd she go?" Jim asked, nonplussed.

But Dave hushed him. "Something's wrong here."

"Whadaya mean?"

"I mean, I was right. We're not alone."

Dave was now looking all around him, knife at the ready. Then he looked down. "Oh shi—!"

But that was all he could get out before a shot rang out and the man fell over, screaming, cursing, writhing on the ground and clutching his bleeding leg.

"Dave! Holy shit!" Jim rushed forward to help his friend, but he only got halfway there before Ivan sprang up from behind the potato shelf and pointed his gun threateningly at him.

"I wouldn't move if I were you." Ivan narrowed his eyes. "Drop your weapon."

"Fuck!" Jim did as he was told, though hesitantly.

"Hands up."

"Shit, man." Jim said, now shaking, his hands up. "What did you do with Roxie? Tell me, goddammit!"

"She caught sight of me and ran." Ivan replied coolly. "I threatened to shoot her if she didn't. I am alone, and you would do well to leave also if you do not want to end up like your comrade." He nodded to Dave who was whimpering on the floor.

Jim looked horrified. "But D-Dave…"

"Take him." Ivan ordered. "Take him and leave quickly. Tell no one what happened or I'll come after you. I know where your camp is."

"But… what about his wound?"

"Just tell them you accidentally shot him." Ivan smirked. "I'm sure they won't be too surprised; with the way you handle a gun, it was bound to happen sometime."

Jim nodded and bent to grab his friend under his arms and pull him to the front, his eyes never leaving Ivan. When he got to the doors, he felt confident enough to stand up straight and say, "Y-you don't know where our camp is, liar."

"Do not underestimate me." And he lifted his gun to him, making the man flinch.

With that, the man promptly pushed open the doors (kicking away the glass) and dragged the semi-conscious Dave through.

Ivan waited until he couldn't hear them anymore before saying, "All right, they are gone. Let us be gone from this place before he alerts the rest of his camp. I have a feeling they will be coming soon. And Gilbert," he added just as they were starting to emerge. "Let the woman go. Take her out through the back."

Gilbert stiffened, still holding Roxie. "W-what the hell? How the fuck did you know that?"

Ivan smirked. "I saw you pull her into the aisle. I am surprised you kept her quiet for so long."

"I'm awesome enough to keep her quiet!" Gilbert growled, escorting Roxie to the back of the store.

"Great work, Ivan." Arthur said.

"But did you really have to shoot him?" Francis asked, emerging with Matthew, looking shaken.

Ivan shrugged. "Eh, I had to. Otherwise he would not have gotten the message, da?"

"Whatever," Alfred said, holding onto Marge's wrist tightly. "Let's just get the fuck out of here before more show up."

"Yeah," Matthew said, looking over his shoulder to the doors and out of the windows. "I'm sure someone must have heard that gunshot. Let's hope it's not this 'Organization' thing…"

"What _is _that anyway?" Arthur asked, turning to Alfred.

Alfred shrugged. "I have no friggin' idea. C'mon, let's go."

"Ugh, Dad! Stop pulling me. You're going to rip my arm off!"

"Ve! They're going to get us!"

"Nein, Feliciano, calm down. And stop clinging to me!"

"Stop yelling at my brother, damn potato head!"

"Why do you have to be so unawesome at a time like this?"

"Shut up!" Everyone looked at Kiku. He quickly bowed his head, his face reddening. "I apologize for such rudeness, but we must be on our way and fighting will only forestall us. I can sense this place will no longer be safe very soon."

"Then by all fucking means," Lovino said. "let's get the hell out of here!" And he made for the doors, grabbing his brother along the way. "Come on, fratello."

"Wait!" Ludwig yelled racing ahead of him and blocking his way. "We have to check if the way is clear first. We wouldn't want to run out and be pelted with bullets."

"Not after surviving what we just did." Matthew muttered.

"Da," Ivan smiled and held up his AK-47. "You would not want my efforts to be for naught."

"No…" Alfred said slowly, making a wide skirt around where Ivan was standing. "Ludwig, do ya see anything?"

Ludwig held his handgun at the ready as he peered around one side of the building, then the other. "Nothing, but I have a bad feeling."

"Screw bad feelings!" Alfred said, holding Marge close to him. "We need to get the hell outta here!"

Ruby barked her accordance and led the way out.

Before they were even out of the store, there was a confrontation involving Ludwig grappling with Lovino.

"Get off of me, kraut breath!"

"You are too weak to be in the front. Get back in the middle and take your brother with you."

"_Get your wurst hands off of me_!"

"Please don't shout, Roma." Feliciano's lower lip quivered, threatening to spill sobs.

"I'll take care of them, West." Gilbert came up behind both brothers and grabbed them, eventually letting go of Feliciano because he followed him without a struggle. Lovino meanwhile…

"_Fucking potato bastard! If you don't let me—_!" The rest of his threat was muffled by Gilbert's hand coming over his mouth.

"Eh, stop squirming." the albino said, smirking.

"Try to keep them calm." Arthur told him. "Their anxiety builds off the other."

At this, Lovino grumbled even louder behind the hand and flashed the Briton a scathing look.

Arthur just shrugged. "I can't help if it's true, mate."

When they were halfway across town, Yao stopped them and said, "We need medicine!"

Alfred whirled around and smacked a hand to his forehead. "Oh shit, yeah!"

Gilbert took his hand off of Lovino's mouth, for the Italian had been obediently quiet for some time. Immediately, the Italian said, "I am not going back there, dammit."

"But we need medicine, you and Gilbert-san the most." Kiku said. "And it will be better if we travel as a group. It will be safer."

"I told you, dammit, I _am not _going back there!"

Sadiq sighed and unsheathed his kilij, making them all jump. "I will go back, all right? The idiots need treatment, but I'm no doctor, so I need someone who knows what they need to come with me."

Ludwig stepped forward. "I will go."

Feliciano clung to his arm and whimpered, "N-no, Ludwig, don't leave."

"Get off of me, Feli."

Lovino was about to defend his brother, but Gilbert hastily covered his mouth with a pale hand.

"Then I will go." Yao volunteered, but Kiku held him back.

"No, Yao-sama, you are too old. Your reactions aren't what they used to be. I will go."

Yao growled. "You say _I _am too old? You are not exactly young yourself, xiǎodì! Besides, I am wisest nation. I know more about medicine than you do."

"Enough," Ivan said, and they all quieted. He bent to scoop up some twigs from off the ground, breaking them until they were all different sizes. "Okay, all who know medicine well, raise your hand."

Ludwig, Yao, Kiku, Matthew, and Arthur all raised their hands. Then Ivan turned around, stuffing the twigs into his fist, and turned back around, holding out his hand. "Take one. The one with the shortest twig goes."

There was silence as everyone watched them take a twig, as if it was their death sentence. Then, one of them presented the shortest twig in the palm of his hand.

"It's me," Arthur said, looking around at the goggling faces. "What? I've read plenty of medical books in my day. I like to be informed."

Then Alfred stepped forward. "I'll go. I'll go in your place if you tell me what I need to get."

"What! No, git, I drew the shortest twig, so I have to go. What don't you understand?"

"Just tell me."

Arthur scoffed at that. "Like you would remember if I did. You'd probably return with an IV stand and a heart monitor ripped out of the wall."

"You're too old." Alfred said sternly.

Arthur laughed spitefully. "_Old_? You're too young!"

"I'm faster than you and I'm stronger." Alfred said and Arthur frowned. "Plus, I'm a damn good shot. You know that."

"Don't you try to tell me I'm some weak, defenseless old man!"

"But that's just it. I am."

"You—!"

"You're not what you once were. You know that too."

Arthur wanted to retort, but held his tongue. In answer, he turned and motioned for Sadiq to follow him. "Come on, Sadiq. Let's go. I'm ready." He pulled out his pistol and cocked it.

"Angleterre!" Francis suddenly shouted. "Be careful, cher."

"Thank you, Francis." Arthur said bitterly and continued walking.

Alfred couldn't stand there while he watched his older brother walk to his death… possibly. He took only two steps before someone took hold of his arm and pulled.

"_Stay here_, Al." Matthew said.

"What, and let him be killed?"

"You don't know that."

"It could happen." Alfred went on, jerking his arm out of Matthew's grip. "And I don't want to regret not going."

"Nyet, Amerika." Ivan had snagged him and as much as he struggled, Alfred could not get away. Damn. "You let Matvey worry about you when you decided to do something dangerous. Now you will know how it feels to wait as well."

"If I know Arthur," Francis began, pushing back his blond hair. "I know he does not go down without a fight. He never surrenders. And he's found a way out of every trap in history."

"Yeah, but what about me?" Alfred protested. "What about what happened when I—" The words caught in his throat.

"Rebelled?" Matthew finished for him and sighed. "Al, that's different. He raised you. He loved you. That's why he couldn't bear to hurt you. Trust me, I know. I lived with him after the war and he was really gloomy. But with strangers that present a danger to him or any of us, well," he laughed. "he won't give them any mercy. In that situation, yes, he is like his old, domineering self. He's not as weak as you may think, Al. This Uprising's hardened him, like it has all of us."

Alfred stilled in Ivan's arms. "I don't care. None of us should be splitting up. Not now. It's dangerous."

Ivan snorted. "Like you cared about danger twelve hours ago."

* * *

Translations:

постыдный-Shameful

xiǎodì-little brother

A Word From the Writer: Trust me when I say this, American-produced packaged Yakisoba is _disgusting._ Stick with the ramen, people, really. It won't make you want to gag. And I wasn't exaggerating about the Cheeto ingredients. Go ahead, look on the back of that little bag you just got and see the shit ton of crap you'll be adding to your thighs.

Annnnywho, England wants what England wants. Back into town we go... next chapter!


	27. The Last of the Loyals

**Dr. Drama Llama rates this chapter an 11 out of 10.  
**

Warning: A gruesome wound, fight involving weapons, and a death.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**The Last of the Loyals**

"There's a drug store just ahead."

"Good, because I was getting tired of keeping track of where we went." Sadiq said.

Arthur and Sadiq approached the store. The glass was punched in and the automatic doors were crumpled in their frames.

"Let's go in." Arthur said, raising his pistol. "Cover me."

Sadiq snorted, unsheathing his kilij. "You sound like Alfred."

"I am in no way like that blundering git!"

"Okay, okay! Calm down, old man. We wouldn't want your heart rate to skyrocket."

Arthur continued to talk as he stepped through the frame of the doors, his voice significantly lower. "Pfft, you're older than me, idiot."

"Evet," Sadiq said, stepping backward into the door. "But I haven't been sitting around knitting and drinking tea for the past couple of centuries."

"I don't knit, you sod." Arthur hissed. "It's called _embroidering_."

Sadiq scoffed. "What's the fucking difference?"

Arthur couldn't come up with a retort for that, so he changed the subject. "We'd better start looking. Grab anything you think we might need."

Sadiq smirked, knowing that Arthur couldn't answer his question, but said, "All right. Let's split up."

"Right," Arthur felt uneasy about splitting up _again_, but if it meant finding more than they would if they were together, then so be it.

He headed for an aisle and stocked up on Tylenol, some pain reliever, fever reducers, nausea medicine, antibiotics, and a few boxes of Band-Aids. He also stuffed several rolls of gauze for wounds into his bag. _This should get Gilbert to finally shut up. _Arthur thought.

"Hey, Sadiq!" Arthur called, walking out of his aisle and zipping up his bag. "What did you get?"

"Eh," Sadiq was rummaging in his backpack. "Some aloe, splints, allergy medication, some hydrogen peroxide, anti-itch cream, a pill cutter, eyedrops, a few syringes for antibiotics, cough drops and… gum."

"Gum?"

"Hey! It's a creature comfort."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, "Oi…" _It figures I have to come here with this dimwit._

"What's wrong?"

"You,"

"Hey!"

"Don't start an argument, please."

"You just did!"

"Let's go look in that back room." Arthur pointed to a door at the very back of the store. "There may be some stuff in there no one's gotten to yet."

Sadiq was still fuming but sighed. "All right."

Arthur led the way to the door, pistol out. Once he was in front of it, he pressed his ear to the door. Nothing. Good. He reached down and slowly turned the knob…

He growled. "Damn. It's locked, and I don't hear anything." Arthur turned to Sadiq. "Don't you have anything sharp? Bobby pin? Knife, perhaps?"

Sadiq backed away, arms folded, shaking his head. "Nope,"

"What do you mean 'nope'? You must have something!"

"That door's locked."

"… Thank you for pointing out the obvious…?"

Sadiq growled. "I'm not opening it."

"Why? It's just a door!"

"Doors are locked for a reason."

"What? I didn't hear anything from the other side, you deaf pillock. Did you not hear me say it?"

"I did. But the people behind that door could have heard us as well. We weren't exactly being quiet ourselves."

"Then wouldn't they have already tried to escape when they heard us come in? Wouldn't they be too scared to confront us?"

"Or maybe it's a trap."

"What! You're pulling my plonker!"

"Huh? … Well, anyway, you see it in all the scary movies. The stupid teens decide to open the door that has been 'locked for a hundred years' or something."

"Now _you _sound like Alfred!"

"I've got a point, don't I?"

"What, that you're acting like a coward?"

"I _am not _a coward, İngiliz salak!"

"Then give me something to open the damn door with!"

"Don't shout!"

"Then _you _don't shout!" Sadiq was about to say something else, but before he could do so, Arthur dug in his backpack until he found his reading glasses and stuck the arm determinedly into the keyhole. Behind him, Sadiq stiffened.

"You _dumbass_!" His hands flew to his head.

"Relax, damn!" Arthur snapped, moving the arm around in the keyhole. "And shut up, I'm trying to find the—" There was a click and Arthur pulled away, shoving his glasses back in their case. "There we are."

"D-don't do it!"

"Oh stop being a—what does Alfred call it—a pussy."

"I am not being a pussy!"

"Well you're doing a very good impression of one, then." (Ohoho, England's seen a lot of pussy in his day…?)

Arthur turned the knob and pushed open the door, Sadiq unsheathing his kilij.

"See?" Arthur gave a smug smile. "Nothing. Now stop acting like a baby."

"I-I wasn't."

"Sure," Arthur stepped into the little room and examined it.

It was a bit bigger than a closet, but it was big enough to hold some much-needed supplies. Everything was in here: jugs of water, food, medicine, blankets, and—

"Tents!" Arthur said in disbelief, scooping them up. "Tents, wow… how lucky can we get? Surely all of them have been cleaned out of other stores?"

"This is convenient." Sadiq said, walking around, his brow furrowed. "_Too_ convenient."

Arthur sighed, "Oh don't start that shit again."

"No, I mean, really." Sadiq said. "Did someone live here? There are too many tents here for such a small space and… why would they even _need_ tents?"

"Have you stopped to consider that maybe this was a storage room?" Arthur asked, gathering as much as he could into his bag. "Perhaps someone stockpiled stuff and forgot to come back and get it? Or… something." Arthur couldn't bring himself to inquire the other possibility.

"Perhaps," Sadiq agreed half-heartedly. "Look, Arthur, I have a bad feeling about this place."

"So what?" Arthur snapped, now zipping up his bag. "You did before and nothing happened. You're free to leave. Don't let me stop you."

"No!" Sadiq hissed, a bit more anxious now. He was pacing. "I can't leave you here! If something happened, Alfred would kill me!"

"And what makes you think I couldn't make it out on my own?"

"Well, you're—" Sadiq stepped and there was a sudden click and his foot dropped further into the floor. He looked down. "What the hell?"

There was silence as Arthur and Sadiq stared dumbly at each other. Then the sound of metal creaking and the piercing of flesh clawed at their ears. Sadiq gave a scream and his legs buckled and he fell to his knees, unable to descend further for the fact that something like a bear trap was imbedded in his ankle.

Arthur immediately shot to his feet, unable to take his eyes off the gruesome sight. "Fucking God, Sadiq!"

Sadiq was doubled over in pain, huffing, and gave Arthur the dirtiest look he could muster. "I told you this place was dangerous!"

"Oh God, Sadiq!" Arthur was trying not to totally freak out. "Oh my God." He took a couple of deep breaths before covering his ears as a loud siren went off.

"Don't just stand there and say that over and over again!" Sadiq snapped. "Get me the fuck out of this thing!"

Arthur uncovered his ears and his head pounded with the high-pitched shrieking sound. He hurried over to Sadiq, dropping his backpack as he did so, his hands shooting down to wrench the trap off of him. "Did you not see this?" he yelled over the siren.

"It was beneath the floorboards!" Sadiq snapped. "How I was I supposed to avoid it?"

"Where do you think that siren is coming from?"

"I don't fucking know! Now stop asking questions and work!"

Arthur did as he was told, telling himself firmly that now was not the time to be snarky. He focused on the trap—but that was hard to do what with all the blood and bits of flesh hanging off the leg where the metal teeth had bit in. His hands worked at the trap while at the same time he was trying not to vomit.

"Hurry up!" Sadiq yelled, and with one last pull, the trap sprung open and Sadiq pulled his foot carefully out.

"Can you stand?" Arthur shouted.

"Yeah," Sadiq said, putting pressure on his ankle. "Y-yeah, I—" He grunted as his ankle gave out and he went down on one knee.

Panic rising within him, Arthur hefted his backpack onto one shoulder and grabbed Sadiq, putting his arm over his other shoulder. "Hold onto me and tell me where to go."

"That damn siren," Sadiq shouted, wincing as his ankle was dragged over the floorboards. "it will attract everyone around!"

"We'll make it." Arthur assured him and was stepping out of the front doors.

And sure enough, as soon as they were around the corner, the sound of pounding feet hit them. Arthur dared a glance over his shoulder and gasped, seeing a crowd of rebels charging toward them from around a building. They instantly began shooting.

"Don't run straight!" Sadiq said. "Get behind a building, go down alleys!"

"You don't have to tell me!" Arthur replied and quickly darted behind a gas station, the assault on his ears from the siren continuing fiercely.

And they kept running.

They soon reached an intersection and Arthur stopped. "Where are we? Do you remember?"

Sadiq huffed. "I don't know! We didn't come this way!"

Arthur gave a frustrated growl as the mob showed up a couple blocks behind them and they both continued around another corner. But just as soon as they'd come out of a cluster of buildings, they'd found that they had almost run into the mob. They were a few yards away and shooting. Arthur got out his pistol and shot back over his shoulder, smirking when he heard a man scream and a dull thud.

He still had it.

"Shit!" Sadiq growled, looking over his shoulder. "They're gaining. We're going to be hit!"

"Don't look. I'll take care of it."

"Oh, what, are you going to magically sprout wings?"

"Well, I _could _in fact, but I'd need my spellbook for that and it's in my bag so—"

"_Or_," came a familiar, obnoxious voice. Arthur and Sadiq looked ahead and saw Alfred standing in the road along with Ivan, Matthew, Francis, and Ruby. The dog barked when she saw them, her tail wagging. "we could save you." Alfred finished.

Arthur was so shocked, he nearly stopped. "You bloody gits! Why didn't you come get us sooner?"

"You know nothing, bro." Alfed said rushing up and draping Sadiq's other arm over his shoulders. "Heroes are always fashionably late. You know, builds suspense."

Arthur felt like smacking Alfred, but all he could do at the moment was smile in relief. It certainly was annoying.

"What happened to his leg?" Matthew gasped.

"I'll explain later." Arthur said, handing Sadiq over to Matthew and Francis. "Hide him somewhere. He can barely walk."

Francis nodded and locked eyes with Arthur. The Frenchman's eyes were wet. Arthur speculated he must have been the one who convinced Alfred and the others (well, more like just the others) to come and rescue them.

Ivan cocked his gun. "They are closing in. Get behind me if you do not have a weapon."

"Pfft," Alfred scoffed taking out his handgun and cocking it also. "You know I have one."

"Da," Ivan said, smirking. "Da, I do."

Arthur looked curiously at Alfred when he saw him blush a dull red and fumble with his gun. But his curiosity was quickly whisked away when Alfred and Ivan began shooting at the oncoming crowd. Ruby was growling and barking ferociously, her hackles raised. Arthur aimed his gun and was about to shoot when a bullet whizzed by him, so close that it cut through the hair by his right ear. It took a moment to figure out from which direction it came, and he finally turned around to see Matthew crouched behind a window of a store, shooting down the approaching mob with his rifle.

"Aim a little farther to the right, will you?"

Matthew nodded and adjusted his aim.

Meanwhile, Ivan and Alfred were shooting down all the people they could hit, bullets whizzing past. Bullet shells were tinkling to the ground. Arthur took aim and fired in rapid succession, leaving the rebels scrambling over bodies that were dropping to the ground. Arthur saw a couple rebels dart into a building, but he thought nothing of it.

"Dammit," Alfred swore. "They're getting closer and I'm running out of ammo."

"Da, me too, comrade." Ivan said, shooting down a line of men. "We must make our escape now before we are trapped."

"Right," Alfred said, lowering his gun. "And what did I say about calling me 'comrade'?"

Ivan smirked and inserted a cartridge into his AK-47. "You would not be saying that now, da, _comrade_?" He cocked his gun threateningly.

Alfred took one look at his gun, then turned, shuddering, and began making his way toward Arthur, who was still shooting.

"Hey, Art."

"What is it, git? I'm busy!" He expertly shot one man right between the eyes.

"We gotta get go—" Alfred stopped mid-sentence as something caught his eye in the upper window of a building—the glint of the sun reflecting off of a rifle positioned on the frame of a second-story window a block away from them. The man behind it took aim… right at Arthur.

But Arthur, Alfred was horrified to see, did not even notice he was standing in the middle of a death trap. He was going to push him out of the way, but the man had already shot, and it was too late to try and move him, the bullet whistling through the air toward them.

So Alfred did the only thing he could think of. He darted in front of Arthur and threw out his arms.

"What the bloody hell are you—?" Arthur began, but that was when he saw it. He barely had time to say, "You fucking idiot—!" and wrap his arms around Alfred's front, and pull him to ground, before the bullet arrived. Arthur fell, the breath being knocked from his lungs as the dead weight of Alfred hit him full on in the chest. He heard the bullet lodge in something solid and blood splattered onto his shirt—the same shirt on which Lennox's blood had spilt.

Arthur's heart was hammering violently against his ribs as he struggled to wriggle out from beneath Alfred. The damn American always ate too much. And he cursed the fact, as the seconds ticked by—the seconds that could determine whether Alfred lived or died.

Arthur was almost hysterical as he sat so that Alfred's head lay in his lap. Meanwhile, the mob (which was reduced to about ten people) had retreated. Matthew had raced out of the building, calling out to his brother, but to Arthur he sounded very far away.

He slapped Alfred's face. "Alfred? Alfred, you sod! Wake up!" _I can't let him die like Lennox. _"Dammit, I'll kill you if you don't fucking wake up!"

Alfred cracked open his eyes and blinked. "A-Artie?"

Arthur's heart leapt into his throat. "I'm here, Alfred."

Alfred licked his chapped lips and said, "Arthur…?"

Tears tugged at Arthur's eyes. "Yes, Alfred?"

"I…" Alfred wheezed. "I… I'm hungry."

"Oh, Alfred I—what?" Arthur looked quizzically down at him. "But… don't you feel faint at all?"

Alfred sat up and rubbed the back of his head. "Hell no, but, ow…" He gripped his shoulder. "My arm hurts like hell."

Arthur pried his hands away and examined the wound. His eyes then moved to where a bullet was imbedded in the ground inches away from them, still smoking. There was a few moment's silence and then… _SLAP_!

"Ow! What the fuck, Igs?"

"You. Fucking. Git!" Arthur growled between slaps. "I. Thought. You. Were. _Dying_! And all you have to show for it is a scratch?!"

Alfred swore, shielding himself. "Fuck no, I won't be dying any time soon! Heroes don't die, dude, watch more movies, will ya?"

Arthur got to his feet and Alfred tried to also, but Arthur pushed him down so that he lay splayed on his back. "Why the hell did you do that, Alfred?" Arthur demanded, trying to keep his composure. He felt like he was going to break down. "Why the _fucking hell _did you stand in front of me like that, you idiot?!"

Alfred blinked innocently up at him. "I thought that was obvious. I love you, bro." The last three words were whispered and Alfred looked away.

Arthur could feel tears fill his eyes and then spill over, but he didn't care. "I love you too, Alfred, but that doesn't mean you should risk your life for me."

Alfred cocked his head, unsure if he should look at his brother while he was crying. It brought up bad memories of the only other time Alfred had ever seen him cry… "Why not? You're just as important as me."

Arthur wiped his eyes grudgingly with back of his hand. "That isn't what I meant, Alfred… _You_ are my little brother, so _I _protect _you_. God, you're so selfish, Alfred. What would Marjorie have said if you'd died? How would I feel if I knew I could've saved you and I—" Arthur shook his head and turned his back to him, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. "Damn, you piss me off. Try thinking of yourself for once! Not everybody needs saving, Alfred!" _Alfred… _He couldn't stop saying or thinking the name, the name he might have never been able to say again without thinking of a bleeding corpse…

Alfred got to his feet and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "But, Artie—"

But Arthur jerked his shoulder out of his grip. "Don't touch me, Alfred." And he walked toward the building. Alfred watched until he disappeared through the doors, obviously checking on Sadiq.

Francis had come out of the building long before, and his eyes were red and puffy as he looked at Alfred. "I would have done the same thing you did, ami."

Alfred shook his head and sat on a curb, head in his hands. "God, why am I such a fuck up all the time? Even when I save someone's life, I'm a fuck up. I don't know who I am anymore."

Francis smiled grimly down at him. "You are a hero. You can't help that part of yourself. Arthur is… stubborn. He will come around. I think what you did reminded him of how helpless he felt when he watched his other brother die. He still loves you, cher. More than you will ever know."

Alfred looked up at him. "How do you know?"

Francis gave another somber smile, studying the now setting sun. "Because I once had what he had too." He glanced over at Matthew.

Alfred and Francis both watched the sun until Matthew padded over to them, having finished his conversation with Ivan.

Matthew kicked at the dirt, his hands in his pockets, looking at his shoes. "I… I didn't want to interrupt you and Arthur."

Alfred huffed. "Actually, it would have been better if you had."

Matthew looked up. "Did he say anything hurtful to you? Because you know how he is, Al, he doesn't—"

Alfred made an offhanded gesture. "More or less. I'll live." He frowned at the last sentence. "But obviously some people don't care if _they_ do…"

Francis watched with a somber expression, not saying anything. Matthew sighed and took a seat by Alfred. "Oh, Al…"

He was about to say something more, but Francis's eyes had just widened as he looked over their heads. "Behind you…!"

Matthew and Alfred barely had time to turn around when a man grabbed hold of Matthew's hair and placed a knife to his neck. Alfred was about to tackle him, when another man appeared out of nowhere and wrestled him to the ground, shoving his chin into the dirt, placing a gun to his head. Alfred's glasses flew off and landed in the grass a few feet away in his struggle.

"Take us to your camp!" said the man with the knife. "Or they die."

By now, Arthur and Sadiq were standing in the doorway of the shop. Arthur looked murderous.

Francis backed away with a horrified expression, his hands covering to his mouth. "Non, please…" He locked eyes with Matthew and he struggled to keep his composure.

Ivan aimed his rifle at the criminals. "Let them go."

"Not until you give us what we want."

"What do you want, then?"

"Your supplies." said the man with the gun. When no one moved, he shouted, "_Now_!"

Immediately, Francis slid his backpack off of his shoulders and began rummaging through it. "Faster!" the man shouted, and Francis flinched, doing so.

"W-would this do?" Francis asked and he showed them his gun. He could care less about weapons at this point.

The men examined it from afar and then the one with the knife said, "The ammo as well."

Francis nodded and began rummaging again, but just then Matthew squirmed and shouted, "Don't give it to them, Francis!"

Francis looked up at him, blinking tears from his eyes. "M-Matthieu?"

"Yeah!" Alfred said, landing a good kick to the man holding him before being tackled again. "You'll need it. Don't trust these douchebags. They'll kill us anyway!"

"Shut up!" the man with the gun said, pressing it further into the back of his head. "Or I'll blow your brains out!"

"Don't you fucking da—!" Arthur shouted, making his way toward them. But the man pointed his gun at him. "Stay where you are!"

Arthur stopped and put his hands up, glaring.

The man pointed his gun at Francis again. "Get moving, fruity."

And Francis continued, giving the man a dirty look.

All of a sudden, there was flash of red and Alfred felt the weight of the man sitting on him lift off of him. He sat up, dazed, watching as Ruby Red grappled with the man. The man screamed, waving his gun around, unable to aim as Ruby's jaws snapped at his neck. Just when she ripped the man's throat out, blood splashing over the grass, the man managed to get his gun between her and his chest and shoot.

"Ruby!"

The name barely left Alfred's lips when the loyal, Redbone Coonhound tipped over sideways, rolling off the man and bleeding out onto the grass, her chest unmoving.

Matthew's eyes moistened and the man holding him hostage raised his knife hand, trying to inspect his dead friend, when there was a loud _tink _and the blade flew from his hand.

"I suggest you leave." Ivan said, a shell from his AK-47 hitting the ground, the rifle aimed menacingly at the man, his dark aura about him. When the man didn't move, Ivan cocked his gun slowly. "_Now_."

With that, the man jumped up, releasing Matthew and running away without a backward glance.

When he was gone, it was like they all breathed a sigh of relief. Alfred crawled over to Matthew, who still lay on the ground in shock, and examined his neck after grabbing his glasses. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"N-no…" Matthew said. "Just a scratch, but your shoulder…"

"Eh, it's just a scratch too."

"And Ruby…"

They both looked at her.

"She's gone." Alfred said, rubbing at his eyes. "That shot would have killed a bear."

Francis lunged forward, enveloping Matthew in a crushing hug. "Mon Dieu, mon fils!" he sobbed, burying his head in his little brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Calm down, Papa." Matthew said, trying to wriggle out of Francis's suffocating embrace. But Francis held tight and would not let go.

Alfred's eyes connected with Arthur's and he instantly knew they were both thinking the same thing, but Arthur quickly turned away, leaving Alfred annoyed and disappointed.

Alfred instead turned his attention toward Ruby Red. "She saved our lives." He muttered and moved over to her, placing his head on her still-warm body. "Loyal to the end. I wish all the people in the world were like her, then maybe this whole Uprising wouldn't have happened." He gave her a few pats and then picked her up in his arms, standing and looking around at them all. "Let's go. They'll be back with more."

And with that, they all began to head back without any words exchanged. Matthew and Francis helped Sadiq, Francis muttering frantic questions to Matthew under his breath and the Canadian responding with hissed annoyance. Ivan put away his gun and was now walking along near the head of the group. Alfred marched just ahead of him. Heroes were always first. Arthur, meanwhile, lingered at the back of the group quite a few feet behind.

Alfred was trying not to think too hard about Arthur, but Ivan suddenly sauntered over to him and held out his hands. "Give her to me, comrade."

Alfred jerked away possessively. "Why? Are you gonna brand her with your commie mark or something?"

Ivan didn't say anything, only gave an are-you-seriously-bringing-that-up-right-now look. Alfred sighed and handed Ruby's body over, feeling empty now that he wasn't holding her. Now he didn't know what to do. He looked at Ivan quizzically, and the older nation nodded over his shoulder back to where Arthur was slowly trundling along, alone and somber.

Alfred hesitated, but Ivan's creepy smile gave off more than just encouragement. So, with a sigh, Alfred stopped, waiting for his older brother, hunched over, dreading what he might hear. To him, it seemed that Arthur thought of him as a failure after his revolution. Francis had told Alfred that Arthur was just jealous and a dick, but now he was starting to doubt that theory (the Frenchman _did _have a vendetta against Arthur).

"Hey," Well, if there was going to be some degrading conversation, Alfred might as well start it.

"Hullo," Arthur kicked a pine cone across the path, hands in his pockets, examining the ground.

Alfred scratched the back of his head nervously. "Uh, hey look, brah, if saving you was a bad thing, then just say so and drop it. I'm not down with this whole silent treatment shit."

When Arthur said nothing, Alfred was about to demand so, but Arthur suddenly grabbed him by the upper arm and whisked him behind a nearby hedge, drawing him into a hug so fast, Alfred barely had time to catch his breath before he was being squeezed tightly around the middle.

"God, I'm sorry." Arthur breathed, fingers digging into Alfred's jacket. "I'm so sorry, Alfred. I didn't mean to snap at you, but… but you just scared the shit out of me."

Alfred didn't know what to say, so he responded by hugging Arthur back. And suddenly… he just found himself… breaking down.

Alfred gave a rough heave of his chest and buried his face into Arthur's shoulder, molten tears stinging his eyes, burning his cheeks as they left sticky, salty trails. At this, Arthur sighed and began rubbing Alfred's back in soothing circles. "Alfred… It's okay, Alfred, hush now…" Arthur had to admit, he felt a little awkward consoling the country that broke his heart… and it was a bit ironic. But then again, Alfred had always been such a child, it was only expected.

"I-I love you," Alfred sniffed. It was no more than a whisper, as if he was afraid he'd be rejected.

"And I love you, Alfred." Arthur said with finality. Now he'd finally been able to say what he hadn't been able to say for the past two centuries. It felt like a massive weight off his shoulders. Now he knew that if Alfred died—God forbid—the American would know he still loved him. "And thank you for saving me today. It was a selfless act, and I'm sorry for scolding you for it. But seriously, Alfred," Arthur said, pulling away and looking at his former colony. "You scare the ever-loving shit out of me sometimes." The younger man was a tearful, whimpering mess, and Arthur couldn't help feeling a warmth swell in his chest when he knew that he was the only one who could ever see this side of Alfred, the only one whom Alfred would let see. In this state, Alfred reminded him of when he was younger, coming crying to him in the middle of the night, asking to climb into bed with him because he'd had a nightmare. Arthur had consented (even though it meant a night of sleeplessness) because he loved Alfred, and now he was consoling him because he still loved him. It was something he'd rather not share with the others, especially not with Francis. This was his and Alfred's own private, special moments, moments that still didn't fail to prove that despite how far Alfred had come in the centuries of his absence, he was still in every way in need of guidance and comfort every once in a while.

"No," Alfred said, scrubbing at his eyes, his face still red and splotchy from crying. "You're right. I didn't think of what would happen if I died. If I was killed, my states would die along with me."

Alarm clenched Arthur's stomach. "What?"

Alfred nodded. "Without me, they aren't states, and if they aren't states…"

"My God," Arthur said. "I never thought of that…. Well, I'm not saying I'm entirely right that you did the wrong thing. You _did _save my life."

"Yeah, but," Alfred said, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve, making Arthur grimace. "I don't know what to do anymore. I can't put myself in danger, even if it means saving someone I care about, but I also don't want to let those I care about die. Dammit, I don't know what to do anymore, Artie!" Alfred sniffled again and a few more tears streaked down his cheeks.

Arthur sighed. Alfred was always sensitive to these sorts of problems. He still wasn't good at making choices… as proven with his absurd menu of 'healthy' foods and his knack for pissing the wrong people off. Arthur took a handkerchief out of his bag and handed it to Alfred. "Here, take this. I know I'm not washing your clothes anymore, but it still irks me to see snot on your sleeve."

"S-sorry," Alfred said, taking the handkerchief and dabbing at his eyes and blowing his nose.

Arthur gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. Alfred sniffed. "Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not," Arthur replied. "I mean, I am. I mean… I just thought I wouldn't ever get the chance to witness your endearing stupidity again."

"I'm not stupid!"

Arthur sighed. "Apparently you don't know what the term 'endearing' means."

"N-no… it's probably something like 'wanker.' That's who I am to you now, right?"

"Of course not, Alfred." Arthur said, enveloping the man in a short hug. "It's the things I always disliked about you that I would miss the most if you were gone."

"Th-thanks…?"

"Always remember," Arthur said, pulling back and looking into wet blue eyes. "No matter what I say or do, I will always love you, Alfred. I've never stopped."

_Why the hell am I being such a sap in front of this git? _Arthur thought, but when Alfred glomped onto him again and let out a few more sobs, he knew he didn't mind. At least if it was just them alone. "Pull yourself together, git. They'll miss us before long. Besides, you have to give an explanation to Marjorie."

"R-right—okay." Alfred sniffed and straightened.

A few silent moments passed before Arthur cleared his throat and said, "Um… Alfred? You know you'll have to let go of me for us to walk back, right?"

"Oh, sorry," Alfred released his brother and wiped a hand under his eyes, straightening his glasses and exhaling shakily.

Arthur gave him a you're-hopeless smile. "Don't be sorry. I should be. Thank you for saving me today, Alfred." And he reached up, pulling his head down to plant a soft kiss on his forehead, just like he used to do when Alfred was small, except this time, he had to stand on his toes to do it.

Alfred immediately stiffened and blushed, pulling away quicker than he wanted to and coughing, examining the surrounding buildings. "Uh, so… we should be getting back, yeah?"

"Yes, I suppose so…" Arthur eyed him suspiciously and noticed that Alfred was nervously pulling at the skin on his wrist—a habit Arthur knew he normally did when he was experiencing anxiety. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah… perfectly fine." Alfred said, trying not to think that Arthur had just kissed him on the same spot Ivan had just the night before or what the Brit might say if he found out. "Thanks for everything, man."

Arthur continued to eye him, the younger man refusing to meet his eyes. _We've been having these moments too often._ Arthur thought, believing he'd pinpointed the cause of Alfred's distress. _He thinks he's weakening. _

They eventually rejoined the rest of the group and continued into the forest, where Matthew said everyone else was awaiting their return.

* * *

Translations:

İngiliz salak-British asshole

fils-son

A Word From the Writer: Whoa, that was a total clusterfuck of emotions being tossed around. But at least we see England's motherly side. Aw, huggles! XD

And by the way, Ruby Red is named after one of the states. Probably won't find out until later.


	28. Never Trust a Frog

**Haha, you lucky dogs. You get two lemons back to back!  
**

Warning: Sad stuff, lemon, and fluff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Never Trust a Frog**

When they had arrived back at camp, Marge had immediately rushed up to Ruby Red, thinking she had just been injured, but broke out in tears when she discovered it was not so. Alfred had left Arthur's side to comfort his daughter and Ivan had laid the Coonhound's body beneath a blooming smoketree, clusters of soft purple petals cascading down onto her ruddy body every time the warm breeze disturbed the branches.

"She'd like it here," Marge sniffed, giving her pet a couple of pats. "Ruby always liked chasing the petals."

Eventually, Alfred convinced Marge that they should put Ruby to rest and allowed everyone to give her a pat or a rub or a scratch behind the ears. Feliciano was crying the whole time, even after Marge had stopped, saying when it was his turn to see Ruby, "Addio, cucciolo."

Lovino had then guided him away to calm him down, glaring at Ludwig when he got close.

When all the goodbyes had been said, Ivan took a shovel out of his coat (much to the surprise and horror of many) and began digging a pit beneath the tree. Once the grave was deep enough, Ivan scooped the dog into his arms and laid her gently down into it. She fit perfectly.

Ivan peered down at Ruby for a few moments before saying, "Good dog," and shoveling the disturbed earth over her body.

They all stood there around the tree for a while when Ivan had finally patted the dirt into place and stepped away. Then, Matthew parted the crowd along with Francis, laying wildflowers upon her grave. Once they were gone, Ludwig came forward, knife in hand, and proceeded to carve words into the trunk of the smoketree above the grave. When he stepped away, it read:

_Here Lies Ruby Red_

_A Brave Dog, Loyal Companion, and Best Friend_

_You Will Be Missed_

_March 16 2005—September 15 2013_

_Rest In Peace_

Alfred looked questioningly at Marge and she muttered, "He asked how old she was earlier. I told him everything. He's very fond of dogs."

There was silence for a few more minutes, all studying the grave and makeshift headstone. Then, Marge said, "She was a good dog. A very good dog. I got her when she was just a couple months old. A few months later, she'd killed her first sparrow. Ruby Red was my best friend, and she got me through many lonely days and nights. She caught food when I didn't have the energy, eating none for herself unless I gave some to her. She laid by my side when I was sick. She chased away any animal who tried to confront me. And she always greeted me with tail wags and kisses." She paused to wipe a couple tears from her eyes and sniffed. "Ruby was there when no one else could be. Now the angels will get the pleasure of knowing her and her radiant spirit."

Another stretch of silence, and then: "Ruby did what any friend would." Alfred began awkwardly, consoling Marge who was now crying softly into his shoulder. "She saved our lives, and I will never forget that. Her life on earth was short, but well-lived. Ruby Red was loyal to the very end—One of the last of the loyals in the world. If I could make everyone in the world like her, I would. She was an example of how everyone should be in times of great hardship: hopeful and strong. Your namesake would be proud of how far you've come. We all are. Goodbye, girl."

"Farewell," Arthur muttered. "And thank you so very much."

"You did what I could not." Francis said. "Your sacrifice won't be in vain, cher."

Matthew sniffed and sighed. "All I have now are memories of you. But they are good ones. I'll think about you everyday, I promise."

"She died as she lived, as any dog should live and die." Ludwig said. "Eternally loyal."

"Ja," Gilbert said. "Our debt to you is great. We will live as you wanted us to, that we solemnly swear."

"You remind me of Hachikō." Kiku said. "He was an Akita Inu who waited for his owner at a train station for nine years after his master's death. Loyalty, it seems, did not die with him." He then he stepped forward, sitting on his knees and said, "_For the samurai to learn, there's only one thing, one last thing—to face death unflinchingly. _You have done just that, my friend." He bowed his head, pulling something from his pocket and putting it up to his forehead before scattering it on the grave. He stood and faced them. "Usually we give money at funerals, but since I didn't have any, I settled with incense instead."

Yao nodded. "A very kind gesture, xiǎodì." Then Yao stepped forward and pulled a small white candle from his bag, setting it down on the grave and lit a match. The candle flame smoked elegantly while Yao burned some incense of his own in it. He then tore the red arm band from off his uniform and dropped it into the flame. "Red is the color of happiness." He explained grimly. "This is not a happy time." Then he turned and said, "Nín jiāng bèi jiēshòu jìnrù tiāntáng. Ānxí." Dipped his head and stepped back into the circle of grievers.

"_Grief is the price we pay for love_." Arthur quoted. "But in this case, grief is priceless, for our love for you must cost a fortune."

"Sei stato molto amato." Lovino muttered. "Addio,"

They all gave their farewells and walked away slowly, one-by-one, until the only ones left were Alfred and Marge.

"Come on," Alfred said. "It's getting dark. We'd better set up camp."

"Yeah," Marge scrubbed at her face and exhaled shakily. "Yeah, we'd better do that."

They were all silent as they set up the tents Arthur had managed to grab. Sadiq's leg was tended to by Matthew and Lovino was still trying to console Feliciano. Just as the sun had dipped below the horizon, seven tents had been set up. Alfred had convinced Marge to go to sleep as soon as her's was up, assuring her that he would be sharing a tent with someone else.

"So," Ivan had been the first one to speak after the funeral. "There are twelve of us. That means two to each tent. Who will pair with who?"

Lovino quickly grabbed Feliciano. "I will stay with my fratello."

"I don't think so," Gilbert said. "You two work each other up too much. I can imagine what it would be like if one of you had a nightmare."

"Shut up, potato bastard!"

Eventually, Ludwig and Gilbert pried both brothers apart with much swearing and kicking on Lovino's part. When it was over, Gilbert had a firm hold of Lovino, while Ludwig had Feliciano who was whimpering and clinging to him.

"No!" Feliciano said. "I-I want… I want…" He looked from Ludwig to Lovino then back again. "C-can't you and Lovino share the tent with me?"

Ludwig shook his head. "No room."

Lovino scoffed. "I wouldn't sleep anywhere near the bastard. Will probably be jerking his wurst off in the middle of the—"

"Honhon, something on your mind, Lovi?" Francis leered. "If it bothers you so much, maybe you can share a tent with moi?" He gave a playful wink.

"Fuck no!" Lovino said, practically jumping into Gilbert's arms.

Gilbert smirked down at him, and said, "Eager, ja?"

Lovino tried to get away, but the Prussian grabbed him and carried him to the nearest tent, tossing him inside. "We'll take this tent." Gilbert said, zipping up the flap. "Gute Nacht!"

"Okay," Matthew said quietly. "Who wants to pair with me? I'm not picky." He shrunk back pointedly when Ivan looked at him.

"I will, you have to care for my leg anyway." Sadiq volunteered and followed Matthew into their tent. Alfred huffed at not being quick enough to volunteer himself and instead turned to Arthur.

"Artie…?"

"No," Arthur said firmly and Alfred frowned.

"You will share with me, da?" Ivan said. "I much liked sharing last time. Is nice, da?"

When no one still said nothing, Alfred sighed and followed Ivan gloomily back to one of the tents.

Arthur then turned to Yao and Kiku. "So, which one of you chaps will pair with me?"

Yao and Kiku looked at each other once before racing off to one of the tents and bolting inside, zipping up the flap.

Arthur frowned. Francis leered. "It looks like it will be you and me, amour~"

"I'd rather sleep outside, thank you."

"I wouldn't say that, ami."

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"Because," Francis pointed upward. "It is about to rain."

"How do you know th—?" Arthur was cut off as a fat raindrop plopped on his nose. "Well… it can't be that big of a storm, can it?"

"If it's anything like that one that set the cabin on fire, you are out of luck, cher."

"Whatever. I've had to brave gales and storms on the open sea as a captain and fight wars in the rain. What's the difference sleeping in it?"

Francis shrugged. "It is up to you, amour." And he slipped inside his tent, leaving the flap open.

Arthur snorted as he rolled out his sleeping bag. _Can't sleep in the rain? Bah! What can a little water do to me? It's not like it's hail or anything… _

And he stretched out in his sleeping back, feeling the rain pick up and hearing the trees sway and creak with the force of the wind. After about five minutes, drops were pounding the ground and Arthur's sleeping bag was soaked completely through, making him shiver. And all the while, the flap on the tent was waving at him, mocking him…

Francis opened his eyes as he heard a dragging sound just outside the tent. He sat up and smirked when he saw Arthur pulling his wet sleeping bag through the tent flap. He was sopping wet and looked absolutely murderous as he placed his sleeping bag as far away from Francis as possible, on the other side of the tent.

"It is nice of you to finally join me, ami."

"Shut it, frog."

* * *

Alfred settled into Ivan's sleeping bag since he still didn't have one for himself. It was annoying, but it comforted him to feel a body against his own, no matter how cold or cruel, to know he wasn't alone…

Ivan was staring up at the roof of the tent as the rain began, pummeling the fabric, hoping it wouldn't seep through. Alfred, meanwhile, had stripped down to his boxers and had his back to him. But even though his posture was indifferent, Ivan appreciated the fact that he could now feel Alfred's warm skin against his own.

But there was something that kept him from appreciating the situation fully.

"You almost died today." The statement was barely a whisper.

But Alfred heard. He stiffened and said, "So? I wasn't the only one who almost died."

"Nyet," Ivan now turned onto his side, head propped up by his hand. "_You _almost died."

"Yeah?" Alfred still didn't move, but Ivan could tell from his voice that he was a little uneasy. "So? What's your point?"

Ivan sighed. Alfred was so thick-headed. "My point is," He grabbed Alfred's shoulder, forcing him to turn around and face him. Alfred's blue eyes were wide and he was still as stiff as ever as he now lay on his side, avoiding Ivan's gaze. "I would have been sad."

"Why? 'Cause you wouldn't have anyone to bicker with anymore?"

"Nyet," Ivan said, now wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him so that they were chest-to-chest. "Because I would have missed you."

Alfred gasped as cold arms closed around him and held him tighter than was necessary. Seriously, the sleeping bag was already doing that job for them because Ivan took up most of it. "And why would that be?" Alfred muttered, knowing where this was going and felt his heart begin to pound.

"You are… special to me."

"Special as in…?"

"Special as in I want to keep you." Ivan went on, kissing Alfred on the forehead. "Special as in if I lost you I wouldn't know what to do."

Alfred hoped it was dark enough that Ivan didn't see his blush. "Uh… yeah, right. I guess I would… miss you too…" The last three words were barely audible.

"Da," Ivan said, rubbing his back. "I think I will keep you, if you will keep me. Just us. No one else."

Ivan's sayings were vague, but Alfred knew what he was trying to say and he knew why he couldn't say it because it was same reason Alfred couldn't. Knowing this, he wrapped his arms around Ivan too and lifted his head, planting a couple of kisses on his neck. He felt his chest swell with warmth when he heard the Russian purr appreciatively.

"Of course I'll keep you." Alfred whispered. "I've wanted to keep you for a long time."

"Just the two of us?"

"Just the two of us."

There was silence and then: "I never really knew how long I waited until I saw you nearly killed today."

Alfred smiled against his chest, his embrace tightening. "Then you know we've waited too long."

"Da," Ivan said, taking in the scent of Alfred's wheat-blond hair. Sure, it smelled of dirt and sweat and blood, but it was still distinctly Alfred, the smell of the man he both hated and loved… "But now the wait is over."

* * *

Arthur couldn't properly sleep for two reasons.

One: He was soaking wet.

Two: Alfred had almost died today and he couldn't get it off his mind.

Oh, and there was also the fact that Francis was sleeping in the same tent with him.

Francis made a noise between a sigh and a snore and Arthur huffed. Hopefully Francis wouldn't start talking in his sleep. His dreams were something Arthur never wanted to hear about.

He shifted in his sleeping bag and examined the tent which was now being pelted with raindrops. He fucking got the tents, but no one yet had thanked him… ungrateful gits.

Arthur didn't know why he felt so grumpy all of a sudden. Maybe it was because he was angry with himself for letting Alfred save him or because he hadn't had…

Arthur's hand dipped into his pants, but he quickly caught himself, extracting it as if a whole crowd of people were watching. He looked over at Francis, but the man was still asleep. No. No, he couldn't, not in here with Francis of all people. What if he was caught? _Frogface would never let me live it down… _

_… But, God, do I need it…_

He had to be honest with himself no matter how humiliating his claims: he hadn't jerked off for weeks. It was not like he didn't _like _to, he just… hadn't had the time.

_But now's not the time to do it. _Arthur settled and shoved his hands under his pillow so if temptation arose, he would not be able to satisfy it.

But it didn't help that Francis was making those… _sounds_. It was like the Frenchman was _trying _to arouse him. Surely Francis must be having a very sexy dream, because his moans were heightening by the second. And he was shifting in his sleeping bag—moving his hips in a familiar motion…

Arthur drew his eyes away, disgusted at himself. _Really? _he mused. _Am I really going to watch this _now_? _He was motionless for a minute, his eyes closed. But then Francis gave one of those sexy moans…

_Ah, fuck it._ Arthur said, turning onto his side so he could see Francis through the dark of the stormy night. _He doesn't ever have to know._ And Arthur's hand once again slithered down his pants and into his shorts. He gave a pull to his cock and it hardened immediately. Damn, he didn't know how long he truly waited until he started stroking it…

And Francis kept making those noises. Arthur hated to admit it, but they were starting to turn him on. He just dismissed it as being desperate. _Never again,_ he told himself. _Never again—_

And then he saw it. A shadow moving up and down. It was small movement, but he was sure he saw it. He connected the dots and figured out that… he wasn't the only one desperate for a wank.

He suddenly couldn't stop himself from watching every move the Frenchman made, and he soon found that his own hand was in sync with Francis's before long. And he found he didn't feel disgusted or ashamed—God, he just wanted off.

Then Francis looked at him, but Arthur had already closed his eyes and stopped moving, though they were cracked enough to continue watching Francis. The Frenchman kept looking at him, his eyes half-lidded, his hand still moving now with urgency.

Arthur felt his cock twitch when he finally pinpointed the reason: Francis was wanking off to _him_. Sure, it wasn't a surprise—Francis wanked off to everyone—but it didn't fail to arouse the Briton.

Arthur longed to continue his movements, but Francis was watching too closely for them to go unnoticed. So he just lay there, hoping he wouldn't come just from that because, he had to admit this, it would be humiliating even if Francis didn't know.

And then something Arthur didn't expect: Francis got up, cock still out, and made his way over to him. Arthur squinted his eyes shut, and there was no time to right himself, as Francis rolled him onto his back, then straddled him, wanking off in front of him. Just as Arthur couldn't believe what was happening—and seriously hoped Francis wouldn't come on him, that would be awkward—Francis leaned down and muttered, "I know you are awake, cher."

When Arthur didn't answer, Francis began tugging down his sleeping bag. Arthur forced himself to be quiet as Francis uncovered his erection, his hand still wrapped around it.

"Honhon," Francis tsked. "You have been up to something, I see." And the Frenchman slid down his clothed body, making sure the Briton could feel the state of his swollen length. "Mmm, I'll just have to take care of it for you since you are 'asleep.'"

And before Arthur could do or say anything, Francis had taken his cock into his mouth.

Arthur couldn't pretend that he was sleeping any longer. He grunted, biting his lip and covering his mouth with the back of his hand, looking everywhere else but at Francis. He could feel his face heat up and he sincerely hoped that it was dark enough that Francis couldn't tell.

Francis gave that annoying laugh—a laugh that curiously made Arthur's cock twitch. "Bon matin, chéri. It is nice to see you have finally joined me. This wouldn't nearly be as exciting with you sleeping."

Arthur quickly sat up and began to back away. "Get away from me, frog!"

Francis smirked. "You do not seem to entirely want me to." He gave Arthur's cock a deep-fisted pump as proof.

Arthur couldn't help himself. He hadn't come for so long, his dick was extra sensitive to any touch—even the frog's. He moaned and bucked his hips into the hand.

"You see," Francis went on, continuing to pump Arthur's dick slowly, teasingly. "I need to get off, but I have no intention of being the only one if I am not alone."

Even though Arthur wanted that hand to keep moving along his shaft, he knew he would regret it if he just let this happen without a fight. Going on that, Arthur pushed Francis away from him with both hands. "And why do you possibly fucking think I would let that happen?"

"Parce que," Francis leered, his position unyielding. He reached up and snagged both of Arthur's hands with his own, pinning them to his sides. "I know you want it too."

"W-wait, get the hell away—!"

But the rest of Arthur's words were lost as Francis's mouth once again enveloped his cock. Arthur couldn't believe what he was seeing: Francis, the frog, fucking _France_, his enemy since forever, was sucking him off. It enraged and aroused him at the same time. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd always wanted to see Francis's face covered in his cum, nor that he sometimes imagined taking the man captive and forcing him to give him head.

But he wasn't forcing him. Francis had willingly, _willingly_,crawled over and agreed to it. Well… more like took Arthur by surprise. And Francis had trapped him. Arthur tried not to think about how sexy the situation seemed. His many fantasies were warped: Francis was the dominating one now.

And Arthur fought. He squirmed and growled and cursed—though only half-heartedly—to make sure the Frenchman knew he was still opposed to this. Francis, though, seemed not to notice, too busy pleasuring him.

So Arthur went still. He had tried (and failed), oh well, he'd just go through with it. He kept telling himself that as Francis got more vigorous with his blowjob. Arthur bit his lip so hard it bled to keep his voice in, but it soon became unbearable as Francis began teasing the head of his dick, his talented tongue probing the slit. He resorted to biting the back of his hand, and Francis noticed his restraint with a chuckle that did wonders on his shaft.

Francis took three-quarters of his length into his hot mouth without warning, making a circle with his index finger and thumb to tease the rest of his shaft. At this, Arthur couldn't contain himself. He let out a moan, hips bucking up into the mouth, heat suffusing his whole body. Francis hummed around him, and Arthur lost it. He didn't care if he fucked Francis's mouth. The bloody git deserved it!

And so he did. He thrust up into the blond's mouth, into his throat, holding the back of his head down, no longer caring about his reputation. He hadn't felt this good for _so long_… and he damn well deserved _something _for risking his life for tents and medicine today!

Francis's tongue trailed from base to tip, applying just enough pressure to make the Briton squirm. There was no doubt he loved sucking people off. He was the best after all. But the heady smell of Arthur's arousal intoxicated him more than his other lover's and the fact that he could finally witness Arthur's sexy expressions and moaning was adding to his own pleasure.

In fact, Francis doubted he could last much longer.

As so, he increased his speed, moving his own hips against the sleeping bag, this time taking all of Arthur's length into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. At this, Arthur arched and moaned, "Oh God—!"

Francis chuckled, releasing Arthur's cock and said, "'Francis' is fine, amant."

Arthur glowered down at him, and Francis concluded that it was the sexiest angry look he had ever received from him. To show his appreciation, Francis lifted one of his hands to trail up his shirt and tweak one of the Briton's pert nipples, releasing the other of Arthur's hands in the process. And that hand caught him by the wrist and that oh-so arousing glare was given.

"Don't you dare stop now, bastard."

Francis laughed and retracted his hand, placing it softly over Arthur's. "Of course not, amour."

And he took Arthur into his mouth again. The Briton threw back his head and moaned, bucking his hips into that hot, wet mouth. "Uhn, shit…"

Francis continued his teasing, anticipating Arthur's orgasm with eagerness. But then… he got an idea.

He didn't want this to end quite yet.

So he went as hard as he could, hollowing out his cheeks, his tongue pressing. And just as soon as he felt Arthur's cock twitch with impending climax…

… he stopped.

Well, he didn't exactly stop—he continued but slowly, teasingly, just like he had before.

Arthur looked curiously down at him, but didn't say anything.

After a minute or so, he sped up and once again… stopped.

This time, the Briton did respond. He lifted himself up on his elbows and glared down at Francis murderously. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Don't tell me you don't know how close I am!"

Francis gave him an innocent look and Arthur dropped back down onto the sleeping bag with an aggravated huff.

And Francis continued, bringing Arthur to the brink and stopping. He kept Arthur's hips from moving with his hands.

Arthur's hand shot down to lodge in Francis's hair and he growled, "Fucking suck me off already, you bloody sod!"

Seriously, for their first time Francis wasn't making a very good impression.

Francis smirked around his length. "Do you want it, cher?"

"What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I want it, git!"

"Do you _really _want it?"

"Yes, I—!" But Arthur paused, catching on. Then he shook his head and said furiously, "No way in hell! I _am not_ begging!"

"D'accord," Francis said skeptically, and he returned to his ministrations.

He brought him to the precipice and stopped a few more times before Arthur couldn't take it. The Briton arched and moaned, saying, "All right, fuck, frog! I-I fucking _need _it, okay? … ahn, let me come." When Francis looked up at him, raising an expectant eyebrow, Arthur added, "Please! … fuck…"

"Well," Francis said, smirking. "Since you said 'please'…"

Francis set to sucking him off again, hollowing his cheeks and pressing on his length with his tongue like before. But this time, he allowed Arthur to go further than before. Arthur was fisting the sleeping bag and panting. The sight was delicious to Francis, who was close to climax himself. Seeing Arthur in such a weakened and willing state made him increase his speed, and pretty soon, he was deep-throating his rival.

All worry flew from Arthur's mind as he was pleasured like he hadn't been in months—years. He hated to admit it, but the Frenchman was good. And when Francis locked eyes with him, Arthur was pushed over the edge. He arched and was coming in molten-hot spurts, thrusting through his orgasm, pulling Francis by the hair so that his dick was shoved down his throat. His orgasm seemed to last forever, and he was so lost in his pleasure that he failed to notice Francis rolling his hips into the sleeping bag.

When it was over, the reality of what had just conspired hit Arthur like a sledgehammer to the face. _Oh shit, _he thought. _Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! What the hell have I done?_ And he sat up, still breathing heavily, watching his length pull out of Francis's mouth, a trail of saliva and cum following. Arthur's whole body heated when he realized that Francis had swallowed all of his cum.

Francis's face was flushed with obvious arousal and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the trail of cum on his chin vanishing. "Honhon, you performed well, mon Angleterre."

Arthur scoffed and felt a bit… exposed. He surreptitiously folded his legs to hide his softened cock and scoffed, "Only because you wouldn't properly suck me the hell off."

Francis leered. "Non, chéri, I needed it."

"Needed it…?" Arthur began, but paused mid-sentence to examine Francis's cock. It was flaccid… but surely it would be erect if Francis's libido was anything to go by. Then Arthur began piecing it all together, spotting something white pooled at the foot of his sleeping bag. Disgust and arousal filled him at the same time. "You… you came on my sleeping bag, you sod!" Arthur glared and turned his back to him. Great, now everyone would know…

"Oh, don't be like that, amant." Francis said stretching out alongside Arthur on the sleeping bag. "We can clean it off. Besides, no one would be surprised, oui?"

"Damn idiot," Arthur grumbled, draping his jacket over himself. "Everyone will be surprised. We're enemies, for Christ's sake!"

"I know," Francis said, curling up against him, spooning him—much to Arthur's displeasure. He felt exposed in his state of undress, especially with the feeling of Francis's softened cock pressed against his ass. "But I wouldn't care."

Arthur scoffed. "Of course you wouldn't. You wouldn't have any shame even if you shagged a donkey."

Francis winced, but pulled Arthur closer to him nonetheless. "I wouldn't care because I love you, chéri."

Arthur stiffened. "You're just saying that to get in my trousers."

"Don't you think I would have done so earlier if that was the case?"

Arthur was silent for a moment. "Why did you do that?"

Francis breathed out against Arthur's neck, making the Briton shiver. "When I saw that I could lose you any day, I decided I had better let you know."

Silence, then: "You're a little late then, aren't you?"

Francis laughed. "Very late, oui. But obviously early enough." The Frenchman planted a line of kisses down the back of Arthur's neck.

"Er…" Arthur wanted something to do to end the awkward moment, so he began to shift uncomfortably. "We should probably clean up and… you know… clothe ourselves."

But Francis held him tighter still, Arthur's back melding perfectly into the Frenchman's. It was strangely comforting to Arthur. Rarely had anyone held him in this manner. "Non, amour. You are tired. I know you have not slept at all tonight, for I have not slept either."

Arthur yawned, feeling drowsy by Francis's warm embrace. "Why… why did you wank off today? How could you after what happened?"

The question seemed to catch Francis by surprise, but he wasted no time in answering, "It relaxes me… helps me sleep. And if I'm not mistaken, you were doing it too." Arthur could feel Francis smirk into his neck.

"Hopefully we won't encounter more days like today." Arthur's mutter was barely audible, as if he feared it would be contradicted if he said it any louder.

Francis sighed. "All we can do is hope now. All we have done is hope. Perhaps relying solely upon hope has led to this problem—we must make our own stand to right the wrong that we have caused. It is our responsibility; our job."

"True," And for the first time in his life, Arthur found himself agreeing with Francis—though he didn't care so much now. "I'm just happy we're all together. It may not be everyone we want to be here," Arthur's throat constricted and he coughed. "but I'm still grateful I'm not the only one left."

Francis pulled the sleeping bag over them. "You will never be alone, cher. You never were." Francis kissed him on the cheek and wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his neck. "Bon nuit, mon belle Angleterre."

And, without a care in the world, Arthur slipped into slumber, the warmth of Francis's body against his chasing away nightmares that he would have had if he were otherwise alone.

* * *

Translations:

Addio, cucciolo-Farewell, puppy

Nín jiāng bèi jiēshòu jìnrù tiāntáng. Ānxí-You will be accepted into heaven. Rest in peace.

Sei stato molto amato-You have been loved.

Gute Nacht-Goodnight

Bon matin, chéri-Good morning, darling

Parce que-Because

amant-lover

D'accord-Okay

Bon nuit, mon belle Angleterre-Goodnight my beautiful England

A Word From the Writer: Yup, the pairs are starting to form. First RusAme, now FrUK. But honestly what else were you expecting when France and England were sharing tents?

By the way... I have already written the first major character death. It's happened, one of them is gone. I'll just let your paranoia run free until then. XD


	29. To Go or Not to Go

**And _this _is why nothing gets accomplished at world summits.  
**

Warning: Angst, insults, threat using weapon, and some fluffystuffs.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**To Go or Not to Go**

There was a rapping on the side of the tent.

"Wake up! We have a problem."

Alfred groaned and cuddled closer to Ivan. Well… he wouldn't use the term 'cuddle.' That would just be too weird.

But Ivan didn't seem to mind the cuddling at all. In fact, he made a sound like that of a purr deep in his throat when Alfred's arms tightened around him. The Russian rubbed his back and kissed his forehead softly. "Hm, we should be getting up now, da?"

"Ah, she can wait."

"Dad!"

Alfred sighed and pushed himself up onto his hands. He was already beginning to miss the feel of the Russian's body against his own. "Coming, honey!"

Ivan chuckled as Alfred pulled on his clothes, still laying in the sleeping bag, content with just watching the American rush around. Alfred sent a mock glare at him. "What are you laughing at?"

Ivan chuckled and sat up. "I would never have believed you would make a good father."

Alfred blushed and busied himself with organizing his backpack to hide it. "Uh… yeah. Thanks, I guess."

"Da," Ivan went on. "With all the dangerous situations you got in and the destruction you caused, it seemed surprising to me that you are a good example to your states."

Alfred didn't know if that was a compliment or an insult, so he was confused about how to respond. Eventually, he said, "Well, I have to be. And I have to protect my states, don't I?"

Ivan was now standing in only his underwear. "I suppose. If I would have known you had a soft spot like that, I'd have struck there."

Alfred stiffened. "You almost did."

"But I did not, did I? Now I know how much I would have hurt you if I did. Sure, I would have won the war, but," Ivan shrugged and pulled on his pants. "It does not hurt to know one another. Perhaps if that was the case, we would not have been so hostile toward each other."

"Yeah," Alfred muttered. "Maybe," Then he turned around and examined Ivan. "Jeez, put on a shirt or something. They'll suspect something."

The Russian put on his coat, buttoning it up. "Whatever you say, woman."

Alfred growled. "I'm not acting like a woman. I don't nag. That's Iggy's job. I just don't want this slipping out just yet." He watched him, scrutinizing until he threw up his hands and gave an impatient sigh. "Here, let me do it. You're too slow. With your gigantic fingers…" Alfred buttoned up the rest of his coat and when he looked up, he found that Ivan was gazing lovingly down at him. He immediately felt his face heat and he jumped back, giving the Russian a couple hearty slaps to the chest, clearing his throat. "Uh, yeah, right. There ya go, man. Now let's go see what the hell Marge is so worked up about." And he marched out of the tent, backpack in tow.

Ivan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Such a child. Good thing he's cute~" He hefted his backpack over one shoulder and ducked out of the tent flap.

Everyone was already out and awake. Ludwig was trying to keep Feliciano awake and Gilbert was restraining Lovino from going back into their tent and sleeping. His shouts and cursing in the morning was an assualt to the ears. Sadiq and Matthew were talking quietly to one another, possibly about the condition of Sadiq's wound. Sadiq was leaning against the trunk of a tree, looking miserable. Yao and Kiku were as quiet as ever, respectfully reading the atmosphere. Arthur and Francis, surprisingly, were not yelling at each other, not even glaring; they were in fact looking in different directions. Arthur's face was flushed and Francis had a curiously smug expression.

"Okay," Marge said, folding her arms. "So I went through all the cans of food we all gathered yesterday and discovered something unbelievable."

"A secret weapon?" Lovino asked.

"Nein, that's stupid." Gilbert said and Lovino frowned at him. "It is mein awesome face!"

Ludwig scoffed. "Shut up, East. It's probably a bomb. Whoever set that trap yesterday might have planted others."

"A message?" Arthur asked. "Asking for our surrender?"

"A map, maybe?" Yao inquired.

"Plans from the Organization?" Kiku asked.

"A hero?" Alfred said, then scoffed. "No wait, you already have me. Scratch that."

Ivan rolled his eyes. "Is it a form of communication, perhaps?"

"Non, of course not." Francis said, leering. "It's probably some sexual toy stuffed into a can!"

Arthur grimaced at him. "Why would you possibly think that?"

"Oh… experience." Francis said airily and everyone took a step back from him.

Matthew cleared his throat and asked meekly, "Is it… something gruesome?"

"Yeah," Sadiq said. "Like a body part or something? That wouldn't be surprising since we're in America…"

"Is it pasta~?" Felicianio trilled hopefully.

But Marge shook her head at all of them. "Nope, you're all wrong."

"Then what is it?" They all asked at once.

Marge produced a can from out of her bag. "How the _hell _are we going to get into these without a _can opener_?"

At first, no one said anything. Then Gilbert broke out laughing.

"Kesesese! We are all idiots!"

"Speak for yourself, bastard." Lovino grumbled beside him. "We can open it with knives, can't we?"

"Nein," Ludwig said. "We use our knives for everything. The last thing we want is to stick it in our food."

"Shit," Arthur swore. "I didn't even think about a bloody can opener!"

"Maybe it was because Ivan had just shot someone…" Francis muttered.

But Ivan heard and gave him his signature shut-the-fuck-up smile. "What was that, Francis? I did not seem to catch it."

Francis stiffened and laughed nervously. "Aheheh, nothing, nothing, Russie!"

"You mean all that shit we went through yesterday was for nothing?" Alfred said in disbelief.

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Alfred." Arthur said. "We're going to have to make another trip into town."

"I'm not going." Lovino snorted. "Not as long as those rebels are anywhere near there."

"Lovino is right." Francis said, moving over to stand close beside Matthew. "We almost lost people out there. And who knows if the rebels are still there?"

"Da," Ivan agreed. "They might have regrouped."

"They might be scouring the woods for us." Kiku said under his breath, but his words carried and made them all quiet.

Then Ludwig said, "Well… we can't just stand around here and expect a can opener to show up. We must go back into town or we will starve." He then looked worriedly at Feliciano as the Italian's stomach rumbled. "And Feli is weak and hungry. We are all hungry."

"I say all of those in fit condition go." Alfred said and stepped into the center of the circle. "All right, who's with me?"

"Oh no, you don't." Arthur said quickly, pulling him back. "You aren't going anywhere after what happened."

"And why the hell not?"

"You insulted the rebels, ami." Francis said and Arthur cast him a first-time grateful look. "They won't take kindly to that if they find you."

"Da," Ivan said. "Anyone who helped Arthur and Sadiq should not go, myself included. If the rebels find us, they will not hesitate to kill us."

"So," Matthew began, ticking off his fingers. "That's me, Ivan, Alfred, Arthur, Sadiq, and Francis…"

"Ha!" Alfred laughed spitefully. "I can take them. They have nothing on me. Let them attack me. We'll see how far they can get."

Arthur frowned. "That's not very good thinking, Alfred."

"No, Dad." Marge begged. "Please don't go. They'll kill you as soon as they see you."

"Oh?" Alfred said. "And I suppose _you _want to go in my place?"

Marge didn't say anything, only looked at her father expectantly. Alfred's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No, absolutely not, Montana. You won't be going anywhere unless I'm with you."

"But you _can't _go, Dad." Marge said, pleading with her father to listen. "Besides, with me the trip would be a lot quicker. I know this town, Dad. I know all the hiding places and stores where can openers may still be. And I know my way back."

"You know," Gilbert said. "The chick has a point."

Alfred stared indignantly at her. "I won't let you go. No. And that's final."

"Dad!" Marge said, now angry. "I'm not a child anymore!"

"What does that have to do with anything? You're still my daughter, and, goddammit, you will listen to me!"

"It has everything to do with it!" Marge said furiously. Her face was now a dull red. "You can't tell me what to do anymore! I'm old enough to make decisions on my own, get it? It's what you raised me to do! How am I ever going to survive on my own if something happened to you, God forbid?"

"No,"

"Just give me a chance!"

"I said _no_, Marjorie."

Marge looked as if she would explode, but she exhaled deeply and said, "Fine. If you're going to be like that, I guess I'll just go whether you like it or not."

Alfred's face fell. "Marjorie!"

But Marge was already headed to the trail that led back into the town. "I'm going, who's with me?"

"Someone get her!" Alfred said, looking around desperately. "Tie her up if you have to!"

But no one moved.

"Fine, then," Alfred said, glaring at all of them. "Since she's my daughter." And he rolled up his sleeves marching toward her.

But when he got within a few feet of her, Marge took out her gun and said, "Don't you dare, Dad."

Alfred stopped in his tracks, looking scared and confused. "M-Montana…?"

"I could never kill you." Marge said, still holding her gun aimed at her father. "But I _can_ hobble you."

Alfred was panicking. "Marge, listen I—"

"Don't think I won't." Marge said firmly, aiming her rifle at one of Alfred's legs. "Anything to keep you out of harm's way. It'll be too risky to go back to town for you. You know that, but you're too stubborn to accept it."

Alfred at first considered wrestling the gun away from her. He didn't care if he got shot in the leg in the process. It was just a leg, honestly…

But if he was disabled, he would be a burden to everyone else and he wouldn't be able to help defend the group if need be. And he loathed just sitting back and feeling completely helpless…

So he took a step back and ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Marjorie. I understand your reasons for doing this. But I want you to know that this is your first and only chance to prove to me that you're ready to go off on your own without me."

Marge scoffed. "I've been without you since before the Uprising, Dad." She cocked her rifle. "I can handle myself. I always have. How do you think I've survived living in the forest by myself for years on end?"

"Didn't you have Ruby with you?"

At this, Marge's face fell. "Well…" Her voice was raspy. "She couldn't do _everything _for me. And she was only eight years old, so I've only had her for a short while."

"But the Uprising is something you haven't ever dealt with before."

Marge sighed. "Dad, I'll be fine. This is what you trained us for. Have you felt anything unusual coming from my brothers and sisters? No. That's because they know how to take care of themselves in situations like these. You can trust me." She looked up at Alfred. "I'll return home safe, I can promise you that."

Alfred gave a sad smile and held out his arms. Immediately, Marge lowered her rifle and ran to hug him. "I'm sorry, Marge." he said. "I just worry about you sometimes. I worry about all my states."

"Even Red?"

"Even Red."

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, baby." Alfred said, then released her and turned to face the rest of the group. "So, who's going to volunteer to defend my baby girl?"

"_Dad_,"

"I will go also," Kiku said dipping his head. Alfred smiled. He knew he could trust Kiku.

"All right," he said. "Who else?"

"I will go," Ludwig said and stepped forward.

"I will," Yao said. "I'm the only one left after counting out the injured and everyone that was seen before."

"Kesese!" Gilbert laughed. "I am not injured! I will go too!" And he started forward to join them.

"Nein, East." Ludwig grabbed his brother by the shoulder and pulled him back. "You are too weak. I'm not going to risk losing you."

"What are you talking about? I'm awesome at healing!" Gilbert said, then winced as Ludwig tapped gently on one of his scars. "Ow, ow, fucking _ow_! Okay, West, okay! I'll fucking stay here… OW!"

"I'm not touching you anymore." Ludwig said quizzically.

Gilbert glanced behind him. "Well, then who—?"

"This is for pushing me around, kraut breath!" Lovino laughed, poking him everywhere on his injured back.

Gilbert quickly snatched up his hands. "That would not be wise of you when we share the same tent, ja?"

And Lovino, though grudgingly, stopped, grumbling under his breath.

"All right," Alfred said, examining the group. "You guys be careful and bring my daughter back safely, okay?"

"Shí," Yao said.

"Hai, Alfred-san." Kiku dipped his head.

Ludwig just nodded.

"All right," Alfred sighed. "Off you go then. And if my daughter returns with any sort of injury, I won't hesitate to throttle you."

"Alfred!" Matthew snapped.

"Just kidding." Alfred laughed weakly and gave his daughter another side hug, Marge's gun still out, but no longer aimed at him. "Stay safe, sweetheart."

"Thanks," Marge said and moved away from him, brown eyes meeting blue. "Love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, baby."

"See you soon."

"I'd better."

Marge smiled for the first time since Ruby's death and Alfred concluded there and then it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen since the horrors of the Uprising.

Marge looked as if she was going to say something but closed her mouth and turned to follow Ludwig, Yao, and Kiku, giving her father a wave before disappearing among the trees on the path to town.

"She'll be fine, lad." Arthur assured, placing a hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"Yeah," Alfred said. "I know. I raised her, after all."

Arthur scoffed and led Alfred back to the center of the camp. "Whatever. Let's get that shoulder of yours bandaged and check Gilbert and Romano's wounds. Now that we have proper medicine we'll be able to treat you all properly."

"Artie?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"I'm still hungry."

Arthur snorted. "You always are, git, but we can't eat anything until Marjorie and the rest come back with the stupid can opener we were all too stupid to think about picking up."

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Fucking can openers. Why can't they have Edward Scissorhands with them?... Except, you know, he'd be Can...opener...hands... LAME.


	30. Ambush

**Back into the town of death we go, tralalalalaaa~!  
**

Warning: Angst, insults, threat using a weapon other stuff...

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Ambush**

"God, finally!"

Marge appeared from an aisle, holding up a can opener with a victorious smile. "Holy crap! I thought I'd never find one among all the debris and everything. The people who swept through here before us nearly cleared this whole place out!"

"Ja," Ludwig said. "Put it in your bag. I would like if we could get out of here as fast as possible." He held his gun at the ready as he peered cautiously around the store.

"Shì," Yao agreed, hefting his wok in his hand. "It not wise to linger in a place too long if we already faced dangers close by." He turned to the door. "Kiku! Is everything clear?"

Silence.

"… Kiku?" Yao had paled considerably as the younger nation continued not to respond.

"Oh no…" Marge muttered, taking out her rifle.

"There is another door." Ludwig said quietly. "We can go out that way."

Yao looked at him as if he was crazy. "But Kiku is still out there. He may be in trouble!"

"Nein!" Ludwig snapped as Yao began to walk toward the front doors. "Kiku is fast and good at getting out of things. He'll meet up with us when we've gone out the side door. He will be waiting for us there if he still knows strategy well."

"He could be hurt!" Yao flashed back, his knuckles white on the handle of his wok. "I cannot leave him out there to be captured."

"Yao, no!" Ludwig called, but Yao was already heading toward the doors.

Ludwig had no choice. Yao would make it through the doors before he could, so he motioned for Marge to follow him. "And keep your rifle ready." he warned.

They joined up with Yao who had abruptly stopped to look around. Ludwig put a cautious hand on his shoulder as he did so, and Yao stepped through the shattered glass door frames.

Ludwig breathed a sigh of relief as well as Marge. The way was clear: the streets were empty as well as the length of the building. But there was still one thing missing.

"Where is Kiku?" Yao asked anxiously, eyes darting around.

"Maybe he's on top of the building keeping watch?" Marge suggested

"Ja, maybe—wait a second." Ludwig had watched many horror movies in his life and he always knew the one place the victims neglected to look: up.

Just then, they heard the anxiously high-pitched voice of Kiku yelling from above: "Run! It's a trap!"

But before he could tip his head up to examine the top of the building, there was a rustling and the sound of dozens of feet dropping to the ground behind them. Guns were cocked and Ludwig did not turn. They were caught.

"So," came a sly male voice. "You decided to come back for more, eh?"

* * *

"Ow! Be careful, Mattie! It's tender back there!"

"Stop shouting, Gilbert, you'll attract attention."

They were all sitting or standing around the clearing, watching the day's current spectacle: Matthew trying to pick glass shards out of Gilbert's back while the man writhed and groaned in pain.

Gilbert flinched as the Canadian continued to dig through the damaged layers of his flesh. When he got the glass shard halfway out though, Gilbert whimpering, Matthew felt his stomach heave.

He might skin animals and rid them of their organs but for some reason he couldn't seem to not get sick when dealing with human injuries.

Matthew tried to hold down a heave and said, "Uh… Arthur? Could you please take over from here? I don't feel well…"

"What is wrong, lapin?" Francis asked with concern. "As-tu malade?"

Matthew looked meekly at him. "Non, non, père. I just…" Matthew chanced a glance at Gilbert's desecrated back again and held down another heave. "I tend to get a little queasy when it comes to blood…"

"But I've seen you skin and de-gut animals, brah." Alfred said with a cock of his head.

Matthew shook his head. "Animals are… different."

"Different? Pfft!" Alfred walked over to Gilbert and Arthur who was now kneeling behind the Prussian. "What's so different? Here, Artie, I'll help. I'm not a pussy."

Matthew scowled at him. "Humans have emotions! And no, Alfred, get away from him!" Matthew lunged forward to pull his brother back by the shoulder. "I'm not a pussy either. How do you think I made it all the way here? By being a chicken?"

Alfred gave him a confused look. "Dude, I can totally help him. I've dealt with these kinds of injuries before!" He ignored the last part, much to Matthew's annoyance.

"_No_, you can't." Matthew said through gritted teeth. "_I_ would know. You don't happen to remember that time when we were little and I got a scrape and you wanted to play doctor?"

Alfred smiled nostalgically. "Oh yeah, you climbed the fence to get our ball from our neighbor's yard. Damn, you were clumsy."

Matthew scoffed. "Only because you _insisted_ I climb the fence instead of asking the neighbors to get it. And once I fell, you decided to break out some scissors and try to dig all the dirt out of the cut."

Francis looked at Alfred in disbelief. "Why did you not think to tell me?"

"Us," Arthur growled temperamentally as he picked the glass out of Gilbert's wounds. "It was a play date, remember? … And the only one, mind you…"

"Well if you were his caretaker, why did you not teach Alfred to come to you if there was an accident?" Francis asked.

Arthur snorted. "He had tons of 'accidents.' If I told him to come to me whenever there was something wrong, I wouldn't get any peace. Mind you I _still _wasn't getting peace with all of his nightmares…"

"I _did not _have nightmares, bro!"

"Oh, shut it already, git."

"You mean, you just let him do whatever he wanted and as long as he was out of your way, you were fine?" Francis asked incredulously.

"No!" Arthur replied offensively. "I was never that negligent with him!"

Francis rolled his eyes. "And I guess _that's _why he broke away from you…"

Arthur was about to make a heated rebuttal, but gave an aggravated grunt as he dug particularly deep, Gilbert arching and yelping in pain. When he got the shard out and tossed it away, Arthur muttered, "How dare you accuse me of being a bad brother?"

Ivan scoffed coldly. "Alfred was a rebel, nyet? What do you suppose made him that way, comrade?"

At this, Arthur stood and glared at Ivan. "Say that one more time and I'll knock you one."

Ivan gave a smug smile. "Heheh, I will not object to that, but I doubt you will get very far before I knock you out."

Arthur continued to glare at him, Ivan smiling his fuck-you smile, unblinking, until he gave a great huff and crouched down, returning to probing Gilbert's back for shards.

"U-uh, wait there, tea cozy." Gilbert said quickly, arching away from his hands. "I don't think I want you anywhere near my back, ja?"

Arthur scoffed. "Whatever," He got up, rubbing his hands together and throwing a glance at Alfred.

"… I didn't think you were a bad brother…" Alfred murmured and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

Arthur's face brightened a bit. "Thank you, Alfred." Then he glared around at the rest of them. "Your opinion is all that matters." he spat venomously.

After a few moments of silence in which Arthur made a beeline for his tent and disappeared inside to sulk, Gilbert said, "Eh… could someone awesomely help me? I can feel blood running down my back. It is not an awesome feeling…"

Lovino, surprisingly, stepped forward. "Che, dumb bastard." And he knelt, taking up the bandages, soaked in disinfectant, from the bag beside him and wrapping them around Gilbert's back.

"Are all the shards out?" Gilbert asked hopefully, wincing as the medicine stung his scars, Lovino finishing up.

"Mostly," Arthur called from the tent somberly.

"You had better hope, crumpet-eater…"

"Stop bitching, potato bastard." Lovino snapped, pulling particularly hard on Gilbert's bandages and making him gasp. "At least _you _can still function properly. I think my whole fucking arm is useless…"

"Lucky you, then." Gilbert flashed back with a laugh. "It's just another excuse for you to unawesomely refuse to do anything."

At this, the Italian 'accidentally' stabbed a deep wound on Gilbert's back, pushing his thumb in deeply for a few moments while Gilbert cried out and tried to wriggle away. "Sorry," Lovino mocked. "My fucking mistake."

"Hurry it along, Lovino." Matthew urged, feeling like he would be sick if Lovino continued. "We still have to get to your shoulder."

"All right, all right, damn." Lovino growled as he tied off the bandages. "There. You're done, bastard. Be grateful."

Gilbert quickly got to his feet, pulling his shirt down. "Grateful that you're not a doctor." the albino muttered, earning a scathing look from Lovino.

"How's my fratello?" Lovino asked Matthew. "Did you give him the pills?"

Matthew nodded, recalling the fever medication he had given the Italian as soon as he woke up. "Yes. He's resting for now."

Lovino walked over to the tent that Feliciano shared with Ludwig.

"Please try not to wake him." Matthew called after him. "He needs to sleep."

"Fuck," Alfred said. "I could sleep all day if I wasn't so goddamned hungry."

"We are all hungry, Alfred." Ivan grumbled.

Alfred huffed as he dropped, spread-eagle, onto the ground. "Fuck, I'm exhausted."

Sadiq scoffed. "Oh, stop acting like everyone else isn't. At least _you _can still walk."

"How's your ankle, Sadiq?" Matthew asked with concern.

Sadiq flashed a somber smile. "Better than yesterday. Though it's gotten a bit stiff."

Matthew smiled in relief. "Well, that's good. At least it's not swelling or anything. After the others get back and we can eat, I'll give you some antibiotics. The mediciation will eat your stomach lining otherwise."

"I guess I shouldn't walk for a while, eh?"

"Yeah," Matthew replied. "I estimate it'll take you at least a couple of weeks to get back on your feet, and even then you'll still be limping. You're lucky the trap just got the muscle and not the bone. Someone will just have to help you get arou—"

Everyone tensed as sharp, distant blasts were heard. Alfred immediately sat up. "What the hell was that?"

"They sounded like gunshots." Ivan replied, hand wandering into his coat to grasp his rifle.

There was a rustling and the flap of a tent flipped open and Arthur stuck his head out. "Oh my God, that came from the direction of the town!"

Alfred produced his gun as quick as a flash. "Jesus Christ! I knew I shouldn't have let them go!" And he began to make his way to the path that led into town.

"No!" Matthew said, grabbing his brother around the waist and pulling him back. "We can't. It's too dangerous!"

"My daughter's out there!"

"No, Alfred." Arthur said firmly, darting from his tent to stand in front of the ex-colony with his arms spread wide. "This is what gets you into trouble—rushing into situations that you don't even know are worth rushing into."

There was another shot, this time closer. Alfred felt a pain pulse in his left shoulder.

Alfred glared maliciously at Arthur and raised his handgun, cocking it, aiming it at Arthur's forehead. "Get out of my way."

"Al!" Matthew snapped, trying to push his arm down, but it was locked in place.

Arthur stared in shock at him, then muttered, "You're being rash."

"I. Don't. Care." Alfred said through gritted teeth. "Now get _out_ of my way."

"I have more experience in this area than you do." Arthur said sternly, standing his ground and looking Alfred straight in the eyes. He would show this impudent brat! "You would do well to listen to me."

"Yeah, but _you _don't have a daughter who's out there right now!"

"I have you," Arthur said, ignoring all the looks he received from around the camp. "And I don't want you to go out there when those four can handle themselves just fine and have the rebels see you. You'd be killed on the spot!"

Alfred seemed to think on it for a few moments, all the while everyone else standing with bated breath and weapons out and ready around the clearing.

Then, "Try and stop me." And he lowered his gun, shoving past Arthur who tried and failed to stop him.

"Ivan!"Arthur shouted desperately. "Stop him!"

Ivan, though, didn't even act as if he heard Arthur. "I am going with him. Yao-Yao and the others may need help."

Arthur looked incredulously at the Russian.

"Ja, you can't go without the awesome me!" Gilbert said, getting to his feet. _And I can check on West…_

"Don't even ask us." Lovino called from the tent. "You are all crazy dumbasses."

"Ve~What was that sound, Lovi?"

"Nothing, fratello, go back to sleep."

"I want to go." Sadiq said, trying to stand, but his ankle gave out and he slid down the trunk of the tree he had been leaning against.

"No, Sadiq," Matthew said, going over to him. "You have to stay here. And so do I. I have to make sure you're okay."

"I'll be fine! Honestly, I'm not made of glass."

"I'm staying here anyway."

"D'accord," Francis said, taking out his gun. "I'm going too."

"You're all mad!" Arthur exclaimed in disbelief. "We _can't_ go! If they see us—"

Just then, leaves rustled and heavy footsteps could be heard coming towards the camp through the trees. Everyone tensed and drew their weapons, aiming them in the direction of the sounds. In front of Sadiq, Matthew crouched, rifle at the ready.

"Alfred…" Arthur hissed, motioning for him to rejoin the group.

"No," Alfred hissed back. "I wanna face these bastards head-on."

They all waited for what seemed like hours when they heard panting, heavy footfalls, growling, and a dragging sound.

Then a figure emerged from the brush. Alfred raised his gun. "Hands up, you worthless sonofabitch!"

The man stiffened, then throwing his hands up as ordered, he said breathlessly, "Please… put down your gun, Alfred-san."

Alfred did just that. "K-Kiku…?"

"Hai," the smaller man said as another figure emerged from the surrounding trees. "Yao-sama, bring him over here."

"Who…?" Arthur asked warily.

Yao materialized out of the forest, wrestling with someone who was screaming at the top of his lungs, "Get the hell off me, bastard! Let me go!"

There was a _shing _and Kiku was holding his katana to the scruffy man's throat. "I suggest you be still."

The man immediately stopped struggling, staring pathetically at Kiku. "P-please… d-don't kill me. Please, let me go! I won't tell them where you are, honest!"

"Who is he?" Alfred asked.

"I am wanting to know the same thing." Ivan said. "What is your purpose bringing this scum into our camp?"

Kiku looked at them, opening his mouth and closing it again, seeming unable to speak. Then, Ludwig appeared through the bushes, carrying something in his arms.

"What is—oh God." Arthur said, clapping a hand to his mouth.

* * *

Translations:  


Shì-Yes

As-tu malade?-Are you sick?

A Word From the Writer: CLIFFHANGER FTW! Well, at least you know whatever it is, it's probably going to be bad. Until then, paranoia=overdrive.


	31. You Are My Sunshine

**This chapter is going to be a tear-jerker. Just a heads up to get your tissue box ready.  
**

Warning: Violence, a fight using weapons, someone is shot, threats, character death.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**You Are My Sunshine**

Matthew gasped and set his rifle down. Francis dropped his gun, but no one seemed to hear the loud clatter it made as it fell to the ground. The arrogant smirk Gilbert normally sported was gone; now his red eyes were wide in shock and he had nothing to say for once. Sadiq gave a sad groan and averted his eyes. Ivan's breath hitched and his expression turned from suspiciously smiling, to an intimidating frown. The Italies emerged from their tent. "What the fuck is going on out here? Feliciano is trying to—Buon Dio."

"Ve~What is it? Did you bring food?" Feliciano crawled out of the tent and tried to examine the scene, but he was immediately pulled into a tight embrace by Lovino.

"Ve~? Lovi? I can't see anything when you're holding me!"

"It's not for you to see." But Lovino's voice was trembling and breaking.

"Ve… why are you crying?"

"Shut up, idiot."

But Alfred's reaction was the worst of all. He just stood there, gun in hand, staring, open-mouthed and speechless.

Then Ludwig walked past Yao, Kiku, and the strange man into the middle of the camp. Everyone's eyes followed him as he crouched down and set the body gently down on the ground, then stood back.

Her eyes were open and glazed, her features were pale and ragged, her abdomen was bloody, but Marjorie was still breathing albeit with great effort.

"What… happened…?" Matthew asked, a lump forming in his throat at the sight of his niece lying so motionless on the earth.

Ludwig cleared his dry throat and forced himself to say. "We were ambushed."

_Just then, they heard the anxiously high-pitched voice of Japan yelling from above: "Run! It's a trap!"_

_ But before he could tip his head up to examine the top of the building, there was a rustling and the sound of dozens of feet dropping to the ground behind them. Guns were cocked and Ludwig did not turn. They were caught._

_ "So," came a sly male voice. "You decided to come back for more, eh?"_

_ Ludwig knew he could do nothing to get out of the current situation. He pocketed his gun and put his hands on his head. He looked sternly at Yao and Marge until they both did the same. _

_ The man behind them chuckled. "Get their guns."_

_ Another meeker man moved among them, groping in Ludwig's pockets before finding his gun and snatching Marge's rifle out of her hands. He bypassed Yao who did not look like much of a threat with his wok strapped to his back. Marge glared at him nastily until he tossed the weapons to his comrades and returned to his master's side._

_ "Good, Higgins. They have nothing else on them?"_

_ "Not that I could feel, sir, no." He leered at Marge and the state scoffed in disgust._

_ "Kneel," the leader said and when they did not move, he repeated with a growl, "I said _kneel_!" And he pushed Ludwig to his knees while Marge dropped also. It took encouraging for Yao to follow. _

_ "Now," The man circled around to the three of them. He was tall and bulky with what looked like a bullet-proof vest on and a semi-automatic in his hands. "What are you four doing in a deserted town like this, hm? Not _stealing _anything, surely?"_

_ Marge scoffed. "I wouldn't call it stealing if everyone's already left this shithole."_

_ The leader studied her for a moment. Then his face brightened. "Ah, I remember you. You're that wild girl who lives in a cabin twenty miles or so away from here. I do hope you remember me?"_

_ "How could I forget an asshole like you?" Marge said with a smirk. "You've always been such a kind man, what with being the drunk of the town and also a thief and rapist. No, I would never forget a sonofabitch like you, Gordon."_

_ He smiled. "For the drunk son of a bitch you hate, you remember my name well." He stopped in front of her and crouched so that his face was inches away from Marge's. Ludwig's muscles tensed, ready to lunge forward if Gordon made the wrong move._

_ "What would it take to change your opinion of me?" Gordon asked gently. "What would it take for you to side with me?"_

_ Marge scoffed. "I'm not some stupid hooker you can manipulate. How about this? I'll side with you when you stop being a dirty, violent bastard." And she spat in his face._

_ Ludwig's stomach bottomed out. Gott, this was the worst time for Alfred's defiance to come out in Marge. It could get them all killed._

_ Gordon blinked and wiped the spit off his face with the back of his hand. "Charming. You've always been so ladylike, Miss Moriah Jones. It's a wonder why you live alone in the woods and have no social life."_

_ Marge let out a barking laugh. "Says the man who has no life whatsoever!"_

_ Ludwig snapped when Gordon slapped her across the face and was about to lash out at the nearest guy next to him, but Yao was faster. He reached behind him and had his wok brandished in a flash, smashing the man who was holding him down right in the face. A spurt of blood and a couple of teeth quickly followed as well as outraged cries and the cocking of guns. _

_ Gordon ducked to avoid a knock to the head by Yao's wok and Yao ended up hitting, instead, a random rebel in the chest, knocking the breath out of him and cracking a couple of ribs. _

_ Ludwig heard men moving behind them and getting their weapons out. He felt the man behind him take his hands off his shoulders to take out his gun. But he didn't get the chance. As soon as the man's hands left him, Ludwig rose halfway and grabbed the man from behind, hearing him shriek in alarm as the German pulled the man over his head and slammed him on his back on the hard pavement. He thought he heard a crack emit from him, and he tried to ignore it as he turned to punch the man currently lunging toward him smack in the nose, blood gushing all over his fist and the man's face. _

_ Marge, meanwhile, had kicked a nearby man in the shin, causing him to drop their weapons amidst the melee. She picked up her rifle and threw Ludwig his handgun and Kiku his katana. Once she had her rifle, she proceeded to whack everyone in her way on the head or just about anywhere she could reach with the butt of her gun._

_ Kiku, meanwhile, had been progressing well without his weapon. As soon as he saw Yao eye him, Kiku had readied himself for an all-out brawl. When the first strike of the wok fell, Kiku stomped on the foot of the man detaining him, making the man loosen his grip on him for a few crucial moments, during which Kiku had jumped out of his grip and used two fingers to jab the man in the neck and stomach. The man instantly seized up and fell, paralyzed by the assault on his pressure points _(oh my God, it's Ty Lee!)_. Once he got his katana, though, things became easier for him. Two men tried to sneak up behind him, but Kiku knew what was coming. In one fluid movement, he stuck the tip of his katana into the earth and used it to propel himself up and over the heads of oncoming attackers. When he landed, the men were so confused, that they had no time to react as Kiku sliced into them with his sword. Blood splattered on his face and his clothes, but Kiku did not care. The scent and sight of blood only managed to ignite his feudal side._

_ Meanwhile, Gordon had managed to back out of the fight and was yelling out instructions a couple or so yards away. "Yes! Walters, behind you! Punch that bastard's face in! Ingersoll, watch out on your left side! Yeah! Give him what for!"_

_ Ludwig elbowed and punched his way through the throng of men until he was able to confront Gordon, who looked startled that he had not been stopped earlier._

_ "Smith!" Gordon called for aid, his eyes wide as the German glared at him._

_ "Only a coward hits a woman, hurensohn!" And Ludwig drew back his fist, using all the force in his arm to pound the man's nose into his skull. The man fell backwards onto his ass, holding his nose, but immediately scrambled to his feet again, stumbling out of the way of another punch by Ludwig._

_ "Ludwig-san, leave him!" Kiku's voice shouted over the crowd. The Japanese man was currently slicing a line to Yao, who was swinging his wok alongside Marge. _

_ Ludwig nodded, then looked back at Gordon, who had fallen to the ground again on his hands and knees, blood pouring from his broken nose, a snarl on the German's face. "I will spare you, but that does not mean I don't think you are scum." And with that, Ludwig left Gordon behind as the man called off his group of rebels._

_ "Retreat! Retreat back to base camp! We must regroup and treat our wounds!"_

_ "But what about these bastards, boss?"_

_ "We'll eventually find them, don't worry. I'll notify the Organization of their location."_

_ "All right, boss."_

_ The group of rebels began to pull away, but not before Yao felled two more with his wok and Kiku three with his katana. Ludwig grabbed a hold of Marge's wrist and proceeded to lead her back to the path that led to their camp, the two Asian nations defending them as they went. _

_ Just when it seemed that the fight was over, someone had handed Gordon a rifle and the man laughed maniacally as he aimed it at them. His nose had stopped bleeding, but it was crooked against his sooty face and sheets of blood had stained his front. "You think you Decievers can hide forever, eh? Well, I'll give you a small taste of what the Organization will do to you if they find you! And they will! Oh, they will…" _

_ Ludwig stopped to turn around to watch as the crowd of rebels cheered their leader on. Gordon took aim at them and shot. The German was caught in a perpetual state of confusion and shock. He had three seconds to figure out what to do, and by that time the bullet had bypassed Yao's swinging wok and Kiku's slashing katana to lodge into Marge's abdomen._

_ It took a moment for Marge (and everybody else) to realize she'd been hit. Only when a horrified expression crossed her features and she gave a wet cough, a bit of blood forming at the corner of her mouth, and she staggered backward, dropping to her knees, did Ludwig and Gordon realize she had been hit. She stared pointedly at Gordon, who was laughing hysterically, cheered on by his companions. "Ya see there, bitch!" he yelled. "Ya got whatcha deserved! Ya had it comin', but I took mercy on you and did it sooner! You can thank me later!"_

_ Ludwig's shriek was caught in his throat as he pulled Marge to her feet and she immediately slumped into his arms. Finally he collected himself and called, "Yao! Kiku!"_

_ Both Asian nations spun around and gave cries of terror as they beheld the young, semi-concious girl now leaning on Ludwig. "We have to get out of—!" But Ludwig was too late. Yao and Kiku were already racing toward the crowd, weapons raised and roaring with rage. Within a minute, they'd cut down a whole row of rebel men and the group was running away, though Gordon escaped. Yao and Kiku chased after them. Eventually, they tired of fighting (that and they'd run out of victims), so they grabbed the only straggler, dragging him back to where Ludwig still stood, holding Marge, the man kicking and yelling and begging._

_ "Oh please! No! Please, let me go! I-I didn't hurt any of you—!"_

_ Kiku responded by slicing the man across the shoulder. The man writhed and screamed—the man Ludwig identified as Higgins—and Kiku said dangerously, "Lies. Be silent."_

_ "I say we kill him now." Yao growled, hefting his wok menacingly and making the man whimper. _

_ "Nein," Ludwig said anxiously. "We need to get back to camp. She will die if she is not treated soon."_

_ "Hai," Kiku said. "Besides, it is fitting for a relative of the victim to exterminate the killer."_

_ Higgins shrunk back and swallowed. "Ex-exterminate…?"_

_ "I said _be silent_." Kiku growled. And with that, the man promptly shut up._

_ "Let's go," Ludwig said, picking Marge up to carry her in his arms. The girl groaned with the harsh movement, blood soaking Ludwig's coat from her wound. "We must hurry." _Alfred will kill me…

_And the three of them walked along in silence (Higgins was being dragged along by Yao), all of them knowing that Marge had a fatal wound but not wanting to voice it._

_ Because if they _did _voice it, that would mean her fate was final._

When Ludwig finished telling the story, everyone was silent for a moment as they took in the reality of the situation. Then, the German said ruefully, "I am sorry, Alfred. I should have done something." Guilt pooled into his gut and made his stomach churn. He was responsible for the death of an innocent young girl—no, a _state_. He could throw up.

"No, Ludwig, it's not your fault." Matthew said meekly, trying to make his voice steady. It wasn't working.

Alfred's eyes flashed dangerously as he whirled around to glare at Ludwig and pointed accusingly. "You… _You_! You bastard! I told you to keep my little girl safe!"

Ludwig threw up his hands in defense. "I did not mean for her to get shot!"

"Yeah, well, it damn well happened, didn't it?"

"Alfred," Arthur said, an undertone of warning in his voice. "He's already said he's sorry. There's nothing you can do to change—"

"Nothing I can do? I can pound the shit out of the person who's responsible!" Alfred growled, pocketing his gun and stalking menacingly over to Ludwig. The German was shocked at the confrontation, but prepared. He took off his cap and threw it on the ground, dropping his gun as well.

"You can fight me, ja." Ludwig said, and quickly continued before Gilbert could protest. "But I did not shoot her, so I doubt you will receive much satisfaction from it."

"Ve~? A fight?" Feliciano's excited voice rose, slightly muffled, from Lovino's smothering embrace. "I want to see! I want to see! Lovi, can I~?"

But Lovino only pushed his brother's face into his chest further, hoping that Feliciano could still breathe but not wanting him to see what would surely unfold. "No, dammit, you cannot see anything. Now shut up."

"We cannot resort to violence now, oui?" Francis said desperately, rooted to the spot.

Alfred stopped and thought for a moment. "You say that Gordon guy killed her?"

"Ja, he did."

"And he's still out there?'

"Ja, he is."

"That's all I need." Alfred said, brandishing his gun once more. "I'm going after the fucker."

"That's insa—!" Arthur began, but he abruptly as a soft moan emitted from Marge.

It could soon be made out that she was saying something, though weakly. "… ad… Dad…?"

Alfred dropped his weapon and was at her side in seconds. Ivan had never seen him move so fast before.

"Yes, baby? I'm here."

"Dad…" Marge cracked open her eyes and coughed. "Dad, don't…"

"Don't what, sweetheart?"

"Don't… go…"

"Go…? Oh no, honey, I'm not leaving you. At least not now. I'll hunt that bastard down later when you're feeling better."

Marge was silent for a moment. "Nn… hurts…"

Alfred stiffened and said, "I know, baby. Mattie!" Alfred turned desperately to his brother. "Couldja help her, bro?"

Matthew was pale and looked as if he'd be sick, but crouched down beside Alfred anyway. Now was not the time to vomit. "Y-yes, Al, maybe…" He grabbed Marge's hand and lifted it off of the bullet hole it was covering. Then he proceeded to hike up her shirt until he could see the wound. He winced. It was bloody, swelling an angry red, and… right where her stomach should be.

A feeling of dread filled Matthew and he glanced at his brother, who had a painfully hopeful look on his face, then back at his niece who was surely going through agony right now. Matthew took his hands from Marge and shook his head slightly.

It took a few moments before Alfred's face fell. "What?"

Matthew looked at him, feeling completely useless. "I'm sorry, Al. But… she's been shot in the stomach. The acid from her stomach is most likely mixing with her blood right now and… even if we can stem the massive blood loss she's already had, there's no way to cure her except through surgery and I simply do not have the equipment, nor am I willing to risk it. I'm so sorry…" His voice cracked and he let out a soft sob as he wiped at his eyes under his glasses. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Alfred felt like he should console his brother, but at the same time he felt like throttling him. Matthew was supposed to be the doctor, the savior, the reliable one! The… hero, as it seemed, in a situation where Alfred didn't have the capacity to be the hero. It made him feel helpless and angry and somewhat… betrayed. He felt like Matthew should have been able to at least do _something_. Even though deep down Alfred knew it wasn't any of the group's fault that his daughter was in this state, it still made him feel less guilty about his letting Marge go back into town when he knew deep in his gut that it was unsafe and risky. At least he wasn't blaming himself, because that felt worse than anything he'd ever felt before…

Except maybe grief, but he hoped he wouldn't feel that any time soon.

He felt his eyes burn, but he was determined not to let his daughter see. He didn't want to let her know of her ill health, even though she herself already knew. Alfred also didn't want her to see her father in such a wrecked state.

To help keep down the sobs he so wanted to spill at the moment, Alfred took his daughter's pale hand and held it firmly in his. "It's going to be all right, baby." _God, I'm such a liar. _But he just couldn't say she was dying, because that would mean that the statement was true.

Everyone gathered around, all somber. Ludwig had left his cap and weapon behind to stand beside Marge. Matthew had backed away some, trying to stem his helpless flow of tears and the string of 'I'm sorry's' coming from him. Francis sat and pulled Matthew to him to console him, all the while watching Marge closely, eyes wet and bloodshot. Arthur stood behind Alfred, being short enough (or Alfred tall enough) that he could stroke his hair. The feeling was familiar and soothing to Alfred, as it was the same thing Arthur did to calm him when he was a colony. Yao and Kiku were standing with their heads bowed, murmuring under their breaths, Yao still holding Higgins firmly who wisely did not make a sound. Sadiq had crawled over to sit next to Matthew, patting his knee and trying not to look at Marge. Ivan was looking at the ground, the frown still on his face.

There was a commotion between Lovino and Feliciano, in which the older Italian was trying to conceal Feliciano's vision.

"Stop!" Lovino hissed, wrestling with his brother. "Dammit… you-you don't want to see it, fratello."

"Ve~! Lovi, please, please, let me see! Why are you so sad? Everyone's so quiet…" He continued to squirm until Lovino no longer had the strength to restrain him.

There was a few silent moment's, then a heart-wrenching scream as Feliciano saw Marge's body stiff, and covered in blood, and he immediately broke out in tears. He sobbed into Lovino's uninjured shoulder, and the older Italian hugged him tightly, rubbing his back and crying himself, albeit quieter.

Alfred felt like the world had stopped. He could not save his little girl. This was the end for her. _So much for being the fucking hero…_ He hated himself for not being able to at least help. He hated himself for this whole thing, this whole Uprising.

He should never have let his children suffer like this.

Alfred took Marge's bloody hand and held it firmly. "Baby… I'm sorry."

Marge gave a small smile, blood trickling down the corner of her lip. "Don't be… Dad?"

"Yes, baby?"

"S-sing me a… a song…"

Alfred blinked in surprise. "What one, sweetheart?"

"That… that one." Marge said vaguely and coughed, more blood trickling down her lips. "That one you sang… when I was l-little…"

Alfred allowed himself a somber smile. "Of course, baby."

His voice wasn't the best since it was trembling slightly and his throat and nose were clogged with mucus, but he mustered his best and began softly:

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine  
You make me happy when skies are gray  
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you  
Please don't take my sunshine away._

Alfred swallowed and went on, determined to fulfill Marge's last request. It was what she deserved, after all.

_ The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping  
I dreamed I held you in my arms  
But when I woke, dear, I was mistaken  
So I hung my head and I cried._

Alfred's voice nearly broke on the last line, but he continued with a deep breath:

_ I'll always love you and make you happy,  
If you will only say the same.  
But if you leave me and love another,  
You'll regret it all some day._

_ You told me once, dear, you really loved me  
And no one else could come between.  
But now you've left me and love another;  
You have shattered all of my dreams._

_ In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me  
When I wake my poor heart pains.  
So when you come back and make me happy  
I'll forgive you, dear, I'll take all the blame._

Alfred's voice was waning, but he took a couple of breaths and continued on, tears burning his eyes:

_ You are my sunshine, my only sunshine  
You make me happy when skies are gray  
You'll never know dear, how much I love you  
Please don't take my sunshine away._

_ Please don't take my sunshine away…_

Alfred couldn't hold the last note, as he gave a deep-chested sob and tears ran down his cheeks. He stroked Marge's hand with the thumb of his ungloved hand.

Marge looked at him through heavily-lidded eyes. "I… love you, Daddy."

Alfred gave another sob and sniffed, bringing up his daughter's hand and placing it against his cheek, not minding the sticky feeling of blood. "I know. I love you too, Montie."

Her breaths were getting shallow now, and she closed her eyes, knowing she was almost through. "No matter what, Dad… I want you to… go on, okay? Don't worry about me… you don't have to any-anymore…" Her lips quirked into a content smile. "The angels will come… to get me, Daddy… like you always said… they w-would."

Alfred's eyes were blurred with tears and everyone was so eerily silent, even Feliciano, who was watching Marge intently through swollen, red eyes. "Y-yes, baby, they will. They will and you won't hurt anymore. I promise, Marjorie, I promise." _I promise I'll kill that man, baby. I'll kill him for you. _

"I… p-promise I-I'll look out for y-you, Daddy…"

"You don't need to, baby, just rest. J-just rest…" Alfred bit his lip to keep from crying.

Marge gave a slight jerk of her head, as if wanting to shake it but was too weak to do so. "No… I will. I promise you… Daddy… I p-promise…"

* * *

Translations:  


Buon Dio-Oh my God

hurensohn-son of a bitch

A Word From the Writer: So... I looked up 'You Are My Sunshine' just for the hell of it and found that it is one of the most depressing songs EVUR. No wonder my mom only sang the first stanza to me when I was little, damn. Anywho, yes, my OC died already. She was short-lived, but awesome.

Let the soap opera continue!


	32. A Mess of a Man

**A shot of testosterone, anyone?  
**

Warning: Violent beating scene, threats, dark!America, yeah...

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**A Mess of a Man**

Alfred felt his whole world crash down around him when he felt Marge's hand go limp on his cheek and heard her last breath exhaled through her blood-stained lips. He was too shocked to do anything but sob, not caring if the others were around. The fact that he had let his baby girl walk into a death trap and could not save her… he had killed her, was devastating. After about five minutes of trying to pull himself together, he felt the warmth from her hand fade and folded her hands in place on her stomach. Matthew, who had recovered from his grief a bit, moved out of Francis's arms to crawl over to sit at his niece's head. With gentle, albeit trembling fingers, he closed her eyelids and peered up at Alfred. His face was red and splotchy and his eyes were swollen from the tears. "There… you see, Al? She's sleeping now. She's-she's sleeping…" A few more tears ran down his cheeks followed by quiet sobs.

"Come here, cher." Francis said, crawling up to sit next to Matthew and pulling him into a hug again.

Arthur felt his heart ache. He knew what it felt like to lose a child, yes, but… not like this. He ran his fingers soothingly through Alfred's honey-blond hair before deciding to sit next to him. The Briton took his brother's hand in his, and held it to his chest, trying to ward away tears from seeing Alfred in such a broken state. It was just like Alfred's civil war when he was being torn in two, but now—now it was just agony. Then, with alarm, Arthur noticed blood welling up through his sleeve on his shoulder.

"Alfred… your shoulder."

Alfred didn't even glance at it. "I-I know, Igs." He winced as the scar grew larger. "It-it happens when…" He let out another sob and reached up to stroke his daughter's cold cheek. "I love you, baby. I promise you, I won't let the bastard who did this to you get away with it. I'll make him pay. For you. I promise."

Worried, Arthur tugged on Alfred's arm. "A-Alfred…? We must arrange a burial before the rebels find us here. They might be regrouping at this very moment."

"I don't care if they're coming or not." Alfred said coldly, yanking his hand out of Arthur's grip. "I'm gonna give Montie a proper funeral. She deserves at least that."

Arthur was about to say something, but Alfred rose to his feet, slipping back on his gloves and picking his gun up off the ground where he had dropped it earlier. He wiped the blood off his face and made his way over to where Yao was standing, still muttering under his breath as he held Higgins captive. The man had gone silent, but he had the gall to glare at Alfred as he approached. That was, until Alfred aimed his gun at him.

"You," Alfred growled. "Tell me where your camp is so I can kill the bastard who did this to my daughter."

Higgins's eyes were wide, but he shook his head. "No… no I've been forbidden to."

Alfred came within a few feet of the man. He squatted down and glared the man in the eyes, unblinking, the barrel of his handgun pressed threateningly against his chest. "Tell. Me. Or I'll kill you."

"A-Alfred," Arthur quickly got to his feet. "No. They'll hear the shots!"

"Fuck if they hear it!" Alfred snarled. "I don't give a fuck if they track us down or not. At least then I'll be able to plant a bullet in this bastard Gordon's head."

Higgins swallowed and tried to scramble back, but Yao, who had stopped muttering, held him in place. "I-I can't, man! Please, you don't understand! He works for a higher power. He has connections. They'll kill me if they find me and find out I told you! They have eyes everywhere!"

"Don't give me that load of bullshit!" Alfred yelled, pressing the gun with almost bruising force into the man. "I don't give a flying fuck if they kill your sorry ass or not! The fact is that if you don't answer my question it'll be over much sooner for you. Now I suggest you _answer _unless you want a chest full of lead!"

"Al," Matthew said shakily. "Please don't be so violent…"

"I don't give a damn!" Alfred flashed back, never taking his eyes off the man in front of him. "This man works for the guy who killed my daughter and any person who thinks he's such a hero as to follow him has no reason to live in my opinion!" Alfred's voice lowered dangerously and he said, "Don't push me. I won't feel guilty if I take your life. Not at all."

Everyone was quiet. Higgins began to tremble and sweat. "P-please… please, someone, help!" he began to yell at the top of his lungs. "Help! I'm here! Please, help me! Gordon! I'm here!"

Alfred was about to tell Yao to silence him, but the Chinaman was already on it. He bashed the man on the back of his head with his wok and Higgins immediately seized up and collapsed.

"Is he dead?" Alfred asked, not sure if he wanted it to be true or if he wanted the man to be alive to answer his question.

Yao shook his head. "Méiyǒu, Alfred. I have only knocked him out."

Alfred suddenly felt a hot anger boil up inside of him. "Sonofabitch tried to get us caught. The coward. He doesn't even deserve to be knocked out."

Ivan caught the dangerous undertone in Alfred's voice. "Alfred… you are not to be doing anything hasty, da?"

"Hasty?" Alfred asked with a scoff. "This bastard helped kill my daughter. You think I haven't had enough time to think about what I wanna do to him?"

"Alfred," Arthur said warily. "I know what you're thinking, but it won't solve anything. It would only make Higgins's group angrier with us."

Alfred was silent for a moment, pondering while anger raged inside him. "Unless they don't recognize him."

Alfred gave Yao a look that warned the older nation to move away. He did, taking his wok with him.

Then, everything seemed to spill over. The frustration, the anger, the guilt, the grief, the urge for vengeance. It all seemed to seize Alfred's body and mind and he felt an explosion in his gut. _This _man was one of _them_. One of those _murderers_. And unless he rid his country of this one man here and now, it was just one more man who would oppose him or might kill another one of his states in the end.

Alfred picked up the limp man by the collar of his filthy shirt and drew back his fist, the whole power of his body behind it.

"Al!" Matthew burst out, but the first punch had already fallen.

And it didn't stop. Alfred couldn't. He was blinded by hate—the most powerful human emotion next to love. And he was doing this _for _someone he loved. So it only made sense.

But he was no human. And as so, he didn't stop. He didn't even think. All he knew was that this fucker had to die and he was much obliged to do it. Dammit, he wished the man could be awake as he did this. He wanted the man to experience what no doubt many other victims of his group had—what his daughter had.

He aimed for the area he never wanted to see again: Higgins's face. Alfred eventually dropped him and proceeded to pound the man's face in with his fists. Blood was splattering on his shirt, neck, and cheeks, his knuckles were surely bruised, and the man was surely dead by now, but Alfred didn't care. All he wanted was for the man to pay, even though he was not awake and probably no longer alive to witness it.

"Al!" Matthew called. "Please, stop!" He was crying again and he looked away, feeling bile rise in his throat. Francis joined him, holding him so that he wouldn't be able to see. Lovino, meanwhile, had coaxed Feliciano back into their tent and quickly followed after him. Sadiq was frozen where he sat, wincing with every blow dealt as if it was himself being struck. Kiku was staring with wide eyes in Alfred's direction, barely breathing. Ludwig was standing with his hand on his gun, which he had retrieved from the ground, while Gilbert had one hand on his shoulder, shaking his head and staring in shock. Ivan stood off to the side, getting the full view of what was happening. He was used to seeing this, yes, but not from Alfred. He wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat and all he could do was watch as the man's face was totally mangled by Alfred's unyielding fists, a fire in Alfred's eyes he had never seen before.

Alfred did not answer his brother. He kept going. Kept hitting. He was determined to take away something as equally precious from the man as he had taken from his daughter: his identity. Yao eventually backed away, hand on the handle of his wok in case Alfred came after him next. And all the while, Arthur watched this, his gut twisting, his heart pounding, having an out of body experience from seeing Alfred become so suddenly violent. Sure, the man had aided in the killing of his daughter, but no one deserved a death like this. Alfred was no murderer… right? He was just… getting compensation.

Arthur felt his eyes burn. His little Alfred was killing someone, and he was just standing by idly, letting it happen. In all his years, he had never thought that Alfred would ever become a murderer, at least not using his own two hands. And it was scaring the absolute shit out of Arthur, not because he felt like he might be next, but that if he allowed Alfred to continue until he'd had his fill, Alfred would simply not be Alfred anymore. And for all the things Arthur had ever said about wanting Alfred to change, he did not want him to change like this. Never like this.

He would not allow him to become a mindless murderer.

So he took a few cautious steps forward. "A-Alfred…?"

But the American did not respond. His blows seemed to get even harder and come faster, as if Alfred was at his peak, as if he was determined to totally mash the man's face flat.

Then Arthur darted forward, deciding to take the risk no one else was taking and grabbing Alfred on the shoulder.

"Alfred," he pleaded, willing his legs to stop trembling. "Please, stop. He's dead." _He was dead a long time ago… _Arthur wanted to add, but he could not for the lump that was forming in his throat. When Alfred still did not stop pounding the man's face in, Arthur raised his voice and said, "Alfred, please!"

And that seemed to stop Alfred. The American dropped the man whose face now looked like nothing more than a hollowed skull full of hamburger meat, bits of shattered bone, and blood. There was nothing left. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Even the bone was gone. Arthur felt his stomach lurch when the man's head fell limply back, his neck broken, the head barely hanging on by tendon and skin. But as soon as Alfred had dropped the man who could have been anybody, who was now unidentifiable, he swiveled around in a flash, a mad gleam in his eye. This frightened Arthur to the core, but he received another shock when Alfred drew back his fist and clocked him hard in the nose. Arthur cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks as blood gushed from his nose. He quickly tried to stem the flow with his hands as Francis left Matthew to come running over to pull Arthur away from Alfred safely into his arms.

When there was nothing else to hit, when no one in their right mind would come near Alfred, the American finally caught his breath and came back to his senses. He had felt like the whole time he was beating the man that he was not even himself anymore, not even in his own body. It was scary, but nothing was scarier than looking at the damage he'd done to Higgins, something like a monster would do, and then he looked at his big brother. And that's when his stomach dropped out. He had _hit _Arthur. He had truly wanted to _hurt_ him. He had never wanted that despite all the things he'd said or did in the past. Alfred was supposed to be the hero, but his temper had gotten the better of him and he even lashed out at someone he cared about, someone who confessed not even eighteen hours ago that he had always wanted the best for him.

But then came the worst realization of all.

Alfred was no hero.

He was a murderer. No better than the man he had just killed and definitely not any better than those rebels or even Gordon.

He felt like he was too dangerous to be around and he also felt… sick.

Alfred examined his bloody hands and his eyes moistened. "Oh… oh, God…"

And that was when he decided he'd rather not hurt anyone anymore. At least not anyone he loved. So, he turned and stepped over Higgins's body. He tried not to look at it, but he felt he had to, like he had to take responsibility for what he'd done. And when he did look at the bloody corpse, Alfred put a hand to his mouth as his stomach heaved.

Alfred faintly heard his name being called as he ran into the trees. By who, he did not know nor did he care. All that he cared about was that he was far enough away not to hurt anyone. And he was too busy throwing up all the food he had in his stomach, thinking with another sickening heave, that the vomit looked similar to the mess of a man he had created, he had left, back at the camp.

Maybe he was just as much a mess on the inside and only now had he realized?

* * *

Translations:

Méiyǒu-No

A Word From the Writer: Wow, America cracked. Like, completely. I found I LOVE writing dark!America. Sometimes you just wanna kill a character and kill him good... using America, of course. America=berserk. You all knew it would happen, though. Right?

Btw, I'll be leaving on Tuesday (6/25/13) to go to Iowa for a wedding. Yeah, Iowa, where half my family lives. You know, the boring-ass place where all you do is get lost in cornfields? Yeah, THERE. Anyway, I probably won't be returning for at least twelve days (7/6/13). But I'll be taking my laptop and (unless a semi runs us over on the way *knocks on wood*) I'll be updating, albeit maybe a little haphazardly. Sixteen-hour car trip, here I come!


	33. The Day That Angels Sing

**More sad stuff. And a cute little flashback to cut through the grief.  
**

Warning: RusAme, fluff (sort of), sad stuff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**The Day That Angels Sing**

"Are you okay, ami?" Francis was asking frantically.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. It's not broken." Arthur replied, still holding his bleeding nose. "Alfred! Alfred!" When no one answered, Arthur said, "Let me go find him. The stupid git will get lost in no time." But the grip Francis had on his upper arm was firm.

"Non, ami. You are hurt."

"I'm not made of fucking glass, frog! It's not like I've had my legs severed from the knees down!"

"I'll go find him, Arthur." Matthew said quickly and disappeared into the trees.

As Francis forced Arthur to sit down and tended to his nose, everyone else's attention turned to the girl lying motionless in the middle of the camp.

Surprisingly, it was Ivan who spoke first: "We should make a grave, da?"

Everyone nodded and Ivan took his shovel out from his coat and walked around the clearing a bit, holding the shovel on his shoulder. After a few moments of silence during which no one moved except for Ivan, the Russian stuck the blade of the shovel into the ground beneath the same blooming smoketree under which Ruby was buried.

"Here would do, da?"

"We should wait for Alfred-san." Kiku said. "He should get say."

"Da, I will do that."

"Alfred?" Matthew called out, making his way through the underbrush. "A-Alfred? Where are you?"

There was a retching sound followed by soft sobbing. Matthew quickly wove his way between the trees until he was standing before a hunched over Alfred.

Matthew sighed at the state his brother was in. "Oh Alfred,"

Alfred flinched, looking up. "M-Mattie?"

"Yes, Al, it's me."

"No!" he replied sharply, making the Canadian jump. "G-get away from me! P-please… I-I don't want to hurt anyone."

Matthew ignored the order and came to stand beside him, putting a hand on his back. "You won't hurt me."

"I hurt Artie!"

"He's fine," Matthew said, then laughed softly, despite all that had happened. "Trust me, he can take a hit. That hasn't been the worst thing he's been dealt."

But Alfred was far from amused. He pushed Matthew back from him as he turned his head and retched again, the vomit consisting now of only stomach bile.

Matthew rubbed his back and waited until Alfred had finished before saying, "Al, you can't just run off like that. What if we never found you? What if you got lost?"

Alfred coughed and stood, leaning against a tree, his chest heaving in fatigue and grief. "So what? You'd all be safer without me anyway…"

Matthew shook his head. "No, we'd all be _lost _without you. We _are _in your country, you know." Then he added as he took Alfred's bloodied hand. "And if you died, I would be devastated. You know that. Your states would go with you."

A few more tears slipped down Alfred's cheeks before he wiped them grudgingly with the back of his hand. "I can't do this anymore, Mattie. First Artie, then you, then Marge… you're all in danger and I can't protect you."

Matthew sighed and pulled his brother into a hug. He felt Alfred's chest heave, and the American hugged him back, tightly, possessively.

"Alfred, I love you, but you can't do everything. Let us take care of ourselves for once. You can't take responsibility for every bad thing that comes along. You need to take care of yourself for a bit, okay?"

Alfred sniffed and parted from Matthew, letting out a shaky breath. "Okay…"

Matthew gave him a weary smile and tugged Alfred by the arm back in the direction of the camp. "Good. Now come on. We need to bury Marge before those guys show up and ruin the funeral."

Alfred let out another shaky breath, but held back tears. "A-all right…"

They arrived back at camp and immediately, everyone's eyes went to them.

Alfred tried his best to look composed, but upon seeing the lifeless body of his daughter, he nearly broke down in tears again. "Let's move her."

Alfred stooped to pick her up, cradling her in his arms, trying not to look at her pale, bloody face as he took her over to the spot where Ivan had dug her grave. He stopped, looking down into the ground, biting his lip, thinking this was going to be the last time he would see Marge again, and that he was forced to leave her out in the middle of the wilderness under this smoketree that he could easily never locate once they left.

Sensing his hesitation, Ivan put out his arms, prompting Alfred to hand Marge over. Ivan then crouched to lay her cold form gently into the hollow, standing back up. "There. She will be at peace now, da?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, his voice raspy and his throat sore from crying.

Ivan swallowed, wanting to hold Alfred, but fearing that he would cause the American even more pain by revealing their closeness. As so, he just stood there and watched, feeling helpless—a feeling he'd felt so many times throughout his own history and absolutely loathed—as Alfred tried his best to hold back tears but did not succeed.

No one said anything for a long while. They all just stood there, staring down at Marge's delicate body in the grave. Sadiq was even standing, supported by Ludwig, his face pale and his expression shocked. That could have been _him_ in there.

Alfred wanted to say something and knew he should, but he did not want to. If he said his goodbyes, then that would mean that it was over—that Marge's life had been snuffed out for good and then Alfred would have to bear the sight of seeing his daughter's precious body covered in earth, knowing he'd never see her smile again, knowing he'd never hear her voice again, hear her laugh. A knot twisted in his stomach and all Alfred wanted to do was drop to his knees and scream, not caring if anyone heard.

His knees buckled with shock, threatening to give out, but a hand on his shoulder steadied him. Alfred glanced beside him and saw Arthur looking at him with a sad strength behind his green eyes. Alfred let out a soft sob, a few more tears slipping down his face, and placed his hand over his brother's squeezing it. Arthur took Alfred's hand, presuming it made no difference now if he did, and held it at his side, squeezing softly back.

"_Alfred!" Arthur called, running out of the cottage and through the garden._

_ "Big brother!" Alfred laughed, swinging from the branches of a blooming apple tree. "Look! Look! I finally climbed it!"_

_ Arthur arrived at the tree and threw out his arms. "Alfred! What did I tell you about climbing trees? You could get hurt. Now come down this instant!"_

_ Alfred scooted closer to the trunk and drew up his legs, shaking his head. "No! I just got up here. You should come up too, Artie! I can see the town from here!" He shielded his eyes from the setting sun with his hand, staring off into the distance with a triumphant and wondering smile._

_ Arthur sighed in frustration and said, "Alfred, if you don't get down right now, you will not come into town with me tomorrow."_

_ Alfred pouted and whined, "Aw! But I like the sweet shop there…"_

_ "Then you'll have to do without. Come down."_

_ "No!" Alfred said determinedly, though he looked as if he was second-guessing his decision._

_ Arthur huffed and began, "One,"_

_ "No…"_

_ "Two,"_

_ "Okay, okay! I'm coming…" Alfred huffed as he straddled the trunk, sliding down it a few feet before losing his hold on a branch and slipping off. He gave a frightened yelp as he fell, and Arthur felt his heart leap into his throat as he darted forward, arms outstretched._

_ There was a big 'Oof' and they both hit the ground backward. The dead weight of Alfred had knocked the breath completely out of Arthur, and the Briton refilled his lungs just in time to see his ward twisting around on top of him, looking him in eyes with an expression that was so shocked and bewildered that Arthur had to laugh. It was more out of relief, really._

_ At this, Alfred smiled and laughed too, the prepubscent boy clambering off his brother and sitting cross-legged beside him. _

_ When Arthur calmed his laughing fit, he said, "Honestly, I don't know how I've kept you from seriously hurting yourself for all these years. And yet, I still don't know what to do with you." He rolled over and stuck his elbow in the dirt—whatever, he'd wash this shirt anyway later, it wasn't like Alfred did the laundry—propping his head up with his hand and looking at Alfred seriously. "You'll get yourself into trouble some day acting so foolhardy, you know that?"_

_ They both stared at each other for a few more moments before they broke out laughing again. Then Alfred's face fell. "But, you'll be there to help me if I do, right?"_

_ Arthur stopped laughing and smiled softly. "Of course, Alfred. I will always be there. That you can trust."_

_ Alfred giggled and Arthur stood, brushing the dirt off of himself and offering his hand to Alfred. "Come on. Supper's getting cold."_

_ Alfred smiled and eagerly got to his feet, brushing his soiled hands on his pants. Arthur didn't like it when his hands were dirty. _

_ But Arthur also didn't like when Alfred's clothes were dirty. Though he doubted the young boy knew that, as he kept ruining his garments. Arthur sighed and shook his head, smiling, "No more going anywhere without me, okay?"_

_ Alfred's face fell a little bit, but his cherubic smile quickly followed. "Okay," And the boy took his hand, squeezing softly and Arthur squeezed back, knowing it was a little game Alfred had created and liked to play._

Tears edged Arthur's eyes with the memory, but he willed them away. He would be strong for the both of them. He'd promised Alfred that.

Then, finally, Alfred sniffed and muttered, "I… I really don't know what to say."

"Say what you remember, Alfred." Arthur said, once again squeezing Alfred's hand in support.

"All right," Alfred's voice was wavering, but he took a deep breath and exhaled. A moment passed before he began, "She was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life. Even when I first met her, I knew she was mine, and I loved her immediately. Marge was so bright and full of life," at this, his voice broke, but he quickly regained it and continued, "Yet so fierce and independent. She reminded me of me. I knew then that she was special, I knew then that she was a state. She was perfect. Marge always loved the woods. It was her home, where she felt most comfortable. When I asked if she wanted to go to the city with me, she would refuse, even in the middle of winter when her only source of heat was from the fireplace in her cabin. Needless to say I always worried about her, being out here on her own. I knew she had Ruby, and many more dogs over the years, but that wasn't enough. I made it my responsibility to come check on her every once in a while." Alfred laughed sadly and a tear trailed its way down his cheek. "Damn, she hated that. But she was my baby. And I couldn't let her live isolated forever, though that was how she liked it. Her siblings, though she did not know them as much as I would have liked her to, looked after her from afar, no matter how annoying she said it was for them to fuss over her for no reason."

He paused, gathering his thoughts, before saying, "I remember when Mattie got her that gun." Nearby, Matthew gave a wet laugh. "I was scared to bits. But when I saw my little girl shooting and saw how happy it made her, I was glad for her. And I wish I could have shown her more support in her shooting when she was alive. I knew how much she wanted to make me proud, despite wanting to keep to herself." He took a deep breath. His legs were shaking now, and he squeezed Arthur's hand again to make sure this wasn't all just some sick dream. Arthur squeezed back and a sick feeling knotted in Alfred's stomach. "I wish I could have kept her longer, but I guess He'll take you whether you like it or not. I just wish it could have happened differently. Marge didn't deserve to die like this. No one does.

"But I'm also happy. At least I know now that she's safe. I don't have to look after her anymore. This'll be the day that angels sing, because they'll enjoy her there just as much as me and whoever else who knew her did. They'll love her up there."

Alfred was trying to force down sobs, squeezing Arthur's hand as hard as he could, making the Briton wince. But Arthur dare not let go lest he lose Alfred and break his promise.

Then Ivan said, "Is there anything else to be said?"

"Hai," Kiku stepped forward and kneeled before the grave, dipping his head to avoid looking at the body. He then ran his finger through the soft earth in a pattern, reciting a poem:

_Autumn wind of eve,  
blow away the clouds that mass  
over the moon's pure light  
and the mists that cloud our mind,  
do thou sweep away as well.  
Now we disappear,  
well, what must we think of it?  
From the sky we came.  
Now we may go back again.  
That's at least one point of view…_(1)

Kiku continued to mutter as he drew shapes in the soil. When he was finished, he got up and bowed. When he walked away to join the crowd, he revealed the characters inscribed in the dirt:

空から私達が来た。今、私たちは再び戻ることができる。

No one asked what it meant—they all had an idea of what it meant anyway.

After a few moments passed, Ivan looked around and said, "Anyone else?"

Silence.

"очень хорошо," And he shoveled soil onto the grave.

Afterward, the crowd still lingered, but everyone eventually stepped forward to offer their farewells and left for their tents as it was getting late and the rebels had yet to appear. They were all too tired and saddened to move camp at the moment. Eventually, Feliciano came out, followed by Lovino, and, once he was told what had happened, cried for a very long time before gathering a bundle of wildflowers and putting them upon the grave. He would have fallen asleep there from exhaustion from crying so much that day, but Lovino helped him back into the tent.

Alfred was ultimately the last one there, having told Arthur to leave and get some rest, though the Briton did so reluctantly. Ivan came up behind him and said, "You cannot stay here forever, Alfred. She is better now, da?"

Alfred nodded sadly and wiped his eyes with his arm before turning around and letting Ivan lead him back to their tent. "Yeah, I guess she is." When they arrived, Ivan urged Alfred in, the American giving him a crestfallen look when he didn't follow. "You're not coming to bed?"

Ivan smiled at the way Alfred put it, but he shook his head. "Nyet. I will keep watch."

"Will you still come to bed, though?" Alfred really needed the comfort right now, and he hated to admit he was soothed by the idea of getting it from his former rival.

Ivan nodded. "I will,"

Alfred sniffed and slipped into his sleeping bag. Ivan lingered outside the tent until he heard his steady breathing which told the Russian that Alfred was asleep. Then he walked over to the edge of the camp where the bloody mess of the man Alfred had beaten to death earlier still lay. He picked it up and went away into the forest with it, disposing of it far away from the camp in a shallow grave and making sure to thoroughly wash his hands in the river before joining Alfred in the tent. The younger nation, though fast asleep, curled up to Ivan, fingers digging into the cold skin on the Russian's chest, clinging to Ivan as if he was the only thing he had left to hold onto.

* * *

Translations:  


空から私達が来た。今、私たちは再び戻ることができる。-We came from the sky. Now we can go back again.

References:

1-A death poem composed by Hōjō Ujimasa before committing seppuku. I thought it was nice when I read it, but as for the history... yeah, it kind of makes it all the more depressing. Just ignore that part and enjoy the poem! (Was it geeky of me to look up how Sengoku Basara portrayed him? ... Nah!)

A Word From the Writer: Nu, it's so SAD! Our boys have now got a touch of reality (well, more like suckerpunch) which will turn the angst meter up big time. And yay for RusAme fluffy times. Does America look like a kitty cuddling up to Russia like that? Probably. XD

Btw, posting this early because I'm busy. You lucky dogs.


	34. A Can of Worms

**Out of the frying pan and into the fire.  
**

Warning: Sadness, angst, threats some RusAme fluff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**A Can of Worms**

When Alfred woke the next morning, opening his eyes and squinting at the sunlight that was streaming through the tent material, he felt shaken but renewed.

He didn't want to get up. Not yet. That nightmare he'd had about Marge getting shot and dying was still fresh in his mind. And him beating that man to a pulp… Alfred rolled over, and looked across the tent.

Then it all came flooding back to him.

His gloves… they were there and they were bloody. His skin felt dry and itchy with blood and tears. But he was too scared to go any farther in his assumptions, fearing that what he believed to be his nightmare was reality. Instead, he turned back over and shook Ivan's shoulder.

The Russian grumbled a bit in annoyance, shirking away from him before finally cracking his eyes open. Ivan exhaled and asked groggily, "What is it, Alfred?"

Alfred could feel his chest grow heavy with his suspicion and dread. He blinked at Ivan for a few moments before muttering, almost too afraid to say it, lest it be proved true, "Is she gone?"

Ivan's eyes opened wider and a sad look settled on his features. When he placed a hand on Alfred's arm, rubbing it gently, the American knew what was coming and tears stung his eyes. "Da, Alfred. I am sorry."

Alfred bit his lip and looked away, trying to hold in sobs as tears rolled down his face. His fingers clenched the sleeping bag and tore through the material, struggling to cope with his grief.

Ivan felt so awkward lying beside Alfred—in the same sleeping bag, no less—and watching him break down. In previous years, Alfred would have never even given him the chance to see him like this. But in another sense, Ivan felt that this was strangely intimate, that Alfred trusted him enough to cry in front of him and for Ivan not to ridicule him because of it. Ivan's chest swelled from that, but he also felt empathetic and saddened by the display.

Ivan wrapped an arm around Alfred and drew him in close to his chest. To his surprise, Alfred buried his face in his chest, whimpering and clawing into the skin. Ivan did not mind the pain. "Alfred, everything will be okay. Do not cry."

"D-don't tell me what to d-do, bastard."

Ivan was certainly caught off guard by the statement, but he continued holding Alfred nonetheless. "I know that you are hurting, and I know that you feel upset, but you do not need to be violent. She is in a better place now, da? You should be happy for her."

Alfred glared at him and pushed away. "Happy that she's dead?" His voice escalated with his anger. "Happy that she never got to live her life out?"

Ivan sighed. "Alfred, she would have never survived for much longer with that wound. It was best for her to pass."

Alfred shook his head, trying to appear stoic with tears still running down his cheeks. "But I let her go to that town when I knew I shouldn't have. _Dammit_…"

"We have already been through this, Alfred. None of this is your fault. Fate has its way indefinitely. She died because it was her time, not because of you." Honestly, it was like consoling a child.

Alfred shook his head, not wanting to believe that she was gone, but knowing it was true. He wriggled out of the sleeping bag and sat up, pulling his knees to him and trying to calm himself. Eventually, he took a deep breath and shakily withdrew it.

"I only wish I could have had her for a little while longer."

Ivan sighed and moved to sit behind Alfred, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and saying, "I know, Alfred."

Ivan didn't quite know why he was acting this way toward Alfred. Perhaps it was because of the times they were in that made him feel as if his time to be with Alfred this way—which he had been wanting for a long while, he had to admit—was limited. Though he hated to think it, he knew that not all of them would survive this Uprising and that Alfred may very well be one of those who would perish during the conflict.

Alfred seemed to sense the oddness about their position and he moved out of Ivan's arms, standing and scooping his clothes off the floor. He looked down at the ground as he slipped on his shirt, his face red and blank.

Ivan watched him mill around with concern. The American was looking more solemn and moving with less enthusiasm than he expected. He settled then that he would watch Alfred closely from then on just in case one of his mood swings resulted in the harm of others or of himself. He knew from yesterday what Alfred could do when he was blinded by rage.

There was a scuffing of feet outside and Arthur's voice said, "Alfred? Are you up?"

"Yeah,"

Arthur paused, taking in the hollowness in Alfred's tone, but continuing nonetheless. "Alfred, I'm sorry, but we need to leave from here. Those rebels will be back at any time."

"How do you know?" Alfred's voice was cold.

"Because," Arthur said with exasperation, then sighed, "Look, just get dressed and come outside. I'll get everyone else up so I can tell them how I know."

Alfred huffed and unzipped the flap, ducking under it. Ivan threw on a shirt and followed him out into the clearing where the others were emerging from their respective tents.

Francis was already there, having been woken by Arthur since they shared the same tent. He looked nervous and weary, staring at the ground with a sort of detached interest. Ever the punctual nation, Ludwig emerged along with Gilbert, who had decided to stay in his brother's tent to allow the Italies to comfort one another. Matthew eventually came out, helping Sadiq hobble over to a nearby tree where he could sit with his back against the trunk. Matthew then sat down beside him, drawing his knees up—much in the same way Alfred had—and hiding his head in his arms. Yao and Kiku quickly followed, both men looking grimly straight-faced. The last to come out were the Italy brothers. Lovino led the way, coaxing his brother out by the hand and coming to stand in the ring of nations that surrounded Arthur. Feliciano's eyes were puffy and red from crying, perhaps crying himself to sleep, and a few more tears sprung to his eyes as he glanced at Marge's grave. Lovino tugged on his brother's hand to get him to look away, his own face pale and empty.

Arthur clapped his hands together when they were all gathered.

"The main mission this morning is to move camp. Now I know you all are shaken and would rather stay and rest up, but we must leave before the rebels show up. I know they will and that they are planning for an all-out attack that could kill us all. So unless you want to be a victim," Arthur's throat tightened and his eyes darted over to Marge's grave. "then you will do well to listen to me."

"And why should we?"

It was Lovino who asked, glaring directly at Arthur, still holding his brother's hand. "My fratello is ill and on top of that, he is also very overwhelmed by what has just happened. So tell me, why in the hell should we leave this place on your assumptions?"

"I was just getting to that." Arthur's voice was calm as he explained, "I expect all of you know that I use magic every now and then and it so happens that I brought my spell book with me. I decided last night to scry the rebels since I couldn't sleep—"

"What the hell is scrying?" Gilbert asked and Arthur was surprised when it wasn't Alfred who had asked. The American was currently staring off into the forest with his eyes unfocused, only half listening.

"Seeing current events through water. Now, I know you all are exhausted, and I am as well, but you must heed my warning: I overheard the rebels saying that tonight they will attack us while we sleep and take us captive as well as our supplies. They will interrogate us about our views of government and if we give the wrong answers, they will kill us. As for Alfred," Arthur eyed the American who had stiffened at his name, but otherwise remained how he had been since Arthur had started. "This 'Organization Coup' seems to have a bounty on his head. The rebels alluded to the fact that the reason they want him is to keep him from reforming the country 'the deceptive way.' The only way to do so, however, is to execute him." Arthur swallowed and then looked at Alfred.

"Alfred? Are you listening?"

"Yeah," Alfred said instantly, surprising the Brit. He turned to face him, something igniting behind his eyes. "You guys can go. I have business to take care of in town."

Arthur's heart began to race. "Alfred, no. You can't go around being reckless. Gordon will get his comeuppance in due time, but I won't let you run headlong into something that could kill you." That was it. Arthur was going to keep Alfred alive and safe, and if that meant resulting to violence then that's what he would do.

Ivan decided to forget others' opinions about his concern and said, "Da, Alfred. You cannot go back there. Is too dangerous. We are not as strong as we used to be… we are no longer nations, so we are susceptible to human physical violence."

Arthur blinked. "I had never thought of that. All the more reason for Alfred not to go."

But Alfred stood firm on his decision. "I don't care. Just because I'm not as strong as I used to be doesn't mean I can't handle myself. In fact, I'm glad I get to face the rebels with equal strength; when I win over them, it'll give me the satisfaction of knowing I beat their asses at their level."

Arthur began, "Alfred—" but he was cut off.

"Al, we can't afford to lose you." Matthew said, looking at his brother with a forlorn expression. "Your states can't lose you. I can't lose you. You know that. It's too much of a risk."

Alfred was quiet for a few moments and said, "I know, Mattie, but I _need _to do this." He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. "The bastard _needs_ to pay, and I'm not just gonna let him get away with what he's done or let him do it to anyone else. The world would be a hell of a lot better without people like him. It's just one rebel down on our way to restoring order."

"Alfred," Arthur said firmly. "If you still refuse to stay here, then I will have no choice but to keep you here against your will."

Alfred scowled. "Go ahead and try! I guarantee you that I'll follow up on my word one way or another. I promised my daughter I would!"

"Please, Al," Matthew insisted, but Alfred acted as if he hadn't heard him.

Arthur sighed and said, "Fine. Ludwig, Ivan, hold him for me."

"What?" Alfred spun around, now alert, as Ludwig grabbed one of his arms and Ivan the other. Alfred looked up at the Russian with hurt in his eyes and Ivan wanted to reassure him that this was the right thing and that their relationship was not a fluke, but Ivan knew it would only cause a scene.

Alfred fought and kicked and yelled, but when he couldn't get away, he ceased struggling and growled, "What do you plan to do with me, then?"

Arthur reemerged from his tent, a few coils of ropes in his arms. "I plan to bind you, Alfred."

"That sounds like something we should say."

All the nations stiffened as men leaped down from the trees armed with guns and handcuffs.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: I know what you're thinking: "Damn, they CANNOT stay out of trouble, can they?" Well, nope! Are you kidding? I'm not giving them a break just because someone died, big whoop. It only makes the plot better anyway, so here we go again!

See you next week (hopefully). I may post on Sunday or somewhere around there depending on when I get back. Please be sure to check out my juicy BDSM fic _Enjoying the Fireworks_. (I'll post as soon as I get the chance, hopefully on the 4th)


	35. Bloodhound

**I'm back in black~! And our boys just can't catch a break. XD  
**

Warning: Angst, threatening with weapons and rape, blunt force fatality.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Bloodhound**

The nations were shocked and also unarmed. Ludwig immediately let go of Alfred and rushed over to Gilbert's side, who was currently shielding the Italies; Lovino was holding his brother close to him, his face pallid and terror-stricken, while Feliciano cried helplessly in fear. Arthur backed toward the tents, ropes still in hand, a look of horror on his face. Francis dove for Matthew, helping to protect the injured Sadiq. Ivan increased his hold on Alfred's arm. Yao and Kiku both backed away, Kiku trying to slip out his hidden katana before one of the men spotted him and snapped, "Drop it!"

Kiku did so, scowling like a defensive cat.

Without having to be directed, the men moved toward their targets, handcuffs in hand. The nations were pulled from one another, Feliciano giving a harsh cry when he was torn from his brother. Lovino responded by shouting curses at the man trying to take him away, but the man gave him a hard slap to the face. Lovino stumbled back, lip bleeding and stunned. The man then spun the rebellious Italian around and cuffed him, Lovino now whimpering in shock.

Once they were all subdued—Ivan unsettling the man guarding him with one of his signature death glares—an older man dressed more ornately than the others walked into the center of the clearing and said, "Okay, folks. This is how it's going to go. We are the Bloodhound Unit of Organization Coup and were alerted to an unknown group in this region and were dispatched to invesitgate. Upon interrogation of the locals and observation of your camp activities and conversations, we have reason to believe that you are all in favor of a deceptive government. As so, we will be taking you to the closest facility and storing you until escorts arrive to take you to the Organization headquarters." He then motioned to the rest of his group and said, "Line them up. The rest of you, stay behind and gather their things. We're heading back."

Alfred struggled with the guy holding him, shouting out profanities until he received a hefty punch to the stomach. The American stopped yelling to cough up clots of blood.

Ivan could do nothing even with his large size (two men were assigned to him for that purpose), but he could glare like hell and that was enough to intimidate the men to the point they were shuddering and offering him more space.

Arthur was glaring as well, not at the men, but at himself. How could he not have known? All the precautions he went through with his magic and he still couldn't keep them safe. He felt so useless. _If only there was something else I could do…_

Then Arthur smiled. There was, but he'd have to wait for the right moment.

Francis saw Arthur smiling and was worried that the Briton had finally broke and gone crazy. It wouldn't surprise Francis in the least after all that had happened in the last few days.

It was still dark as they made their way through the town, the sky lightening on the horizon just over the treetops. Arthur expected for them to be arriving to a hideout somewhere pretty soon, but was surprised (and a tad alarmed) to see that they were in fact heading out of town toward the woods on the other side.

They continued to walk for a long while, Feliciano initially crying loudly until a sock was stuffed into his mouth. Lovino didn't take this kindly and tried to protest, but he was also gagged.

Ludwig and Gilbert, kept apart by a few men, were wearing identical scowls, though Ludwig's was more intimidating, mostly because he used it more often.

Yao, meanwhile, was walking with great importance, giving the men surrounding him the outward appearance of his body guards. Kiku was walking just a few paces behind him, eyes narrowed like a cat's.

Sadiq was being supported by one man, gritting his teeth the whole time, though more out of anger than pain. His bandages were bleeding and he desperately needed to rest, he was so exhausted. Matthew, meanwhile, walked behind him, head down and shuddering.

After traipsing until evening through the woods, they arrived at what looked to be a bunker. Without a word, they were all directed into it and into one of the rooms at the very back.

It was dark, with no windows and only a lantern for light. The walls were gray and covered in filth. They were guided to the back of the room, the men forcing them to sit on their knees in a crescent formation. The men stood before them, aiming their guns at each of them in case one of them decided to make a move.

Then the leader stepped forward, arms folded, and said, "So, this is how things will go down. We keep you here a couple of days to confirm your capture with headquarters. Then one of our associates with armed guards will drive you there for a decision about your punishment."

They were all silent for a moment until Arthur glared at him and said, "Like hell you will, bastard."

Alfred flashed a surprised look over to his brother. Normally, he would be the one protesting, but Marge's death and their current situation made him feel more disheartened than usual.

The leader cocked his head at the Brit. "Huh, what was that, limey? I don't believe I heard you correctly."

Arthur scowled. "I said, try to do it, bastard."

The man stepped forward, his comrades adjusting their aims so that they could fire if Arthur decided to do anything suspicious. He knelt down and moved so that their noses were just inches apart, smiling cockily.

"Oh yeah?" the man sneered. "None of your other buddies seem keen to join you."

Arthur did not break his gaze with the man, eyes fierce, not noticing the many what-the-hell-are-you-doing-dumbass looks he was getting from most of the other nations.

"So what?" Arthur snapped back. "It's not like I need their approval."

The man sat back on his heels and smirked, pondering for a moment before saying, "Guys, I think I found your next plaything."

The men around him broke into wicked smiles and Arthur had a sinking feeling in his stomach, but he kept his stoic persona nonetheless.

The man before him stood and nodded to his nearest comrade. "Take him to the back with Wilson. You two can have your fun with him first and tell us how he is."

The man named Wilson stepped forward along with his comrade to snatch Arthur up by one arm, his companion doing the same with the other. "Heheh, I've been looking forward to this ever since that other slut killed himself. Now we get a limey spitfire."

Arthur squirmed in their grasp as he was dragged across the room. "Let go of me you grimy gits! Try me and I'll throttle you to no end!"

"Heh, we'll see."

At this, Alfred lurched forward and yelled, "Hey! Let him go!"

"Please, do not hurt him. You can have me." Francis said shakily.

"Shut up!" the boss yelled, brandishing his own gun at them. "Shut up or you'll be hobbling all the way back to headquarters with a bullet in your leg!"

At this, they both shut their mouths, but that didn't stop them from glaring.

Alfred was clenching his fists and scowling and Francis was biting his lip with anxiety. _Please let him be okay_. They thought simultaneously.

Alfred was about to yell again, but Arthur flashed him a look that silenced him, confusing him all the more. _What the hell are you doing, Artie? _He couldn't lose Arthur. For the life of him, he would go crazy.

Arthur continued to yell and kick and struggle until he was dragged out of the door. The heavy door slammed shut and seemed to shake the entire building. Alfred's blood boiled and Francis's eyes stung with tears.

They could only hope that Arthur's arrogant mouth wouldn't be his ultimate downfall.

* * *

Arthur continued to shout as the two men pulled him down the hallway. One of them stopped to stuff a gag into his mouth and growl, "Fucking be quiet or you'll be hurting for far more than a few days."

Arthur stopped then and feigned despair, making the men smile with triumph.

He let them relax as they continued down the hall, and when one turned his attention away to open a door at their left, Arthur sprang into action.

Being as silent as possible so as not to alert the rest of the party just down the hall, Arthur stomped hard one of the men's feet, making him lose his balance. As he expected, Arthur was pulled down on top of him as he fell, the man hitting his head hard against the wall, the other guard letting go and staring in astonishment. Before the guard beneath him could get his wits about him, Arthur kicked out at the standing man's legs. The guard gave a startled yelp as he tripped backward and landed flat on his back over the threshold of the doorway. There was an echoing _clack_ as his gun slipped out of his hand and slid across the hard floor.

Below Arthur, the other man stirred, but the Briton didn't give him time to react. He rolled onto his back, tucking his knees up to his chest. After some quick squirming, he managed to slip both his cuffed hands under his legs so that they were now in front of him. He then sat upon the man's chest, glaring down at him. Using both of his still-cuffed hands, Arthur grabbed him by the ears and commenced slamming his head against the concrete floor until he could feel the wetness of blood coat his fingers and the man went limp. Strangling would have taken too long and Arthur didn't have the time to waste, even though this was a brutal and dirty way of killing. Wiping the man's blood from his hands, Arthur then stood and walked over to the man still lying on the floor. The guard looked dazed, but a flicker of fear flashed behind his eyes when Arthur came looming over him, a smirk on his face.

Arthur spat out the grimy gag. "How's this for limey spitfire, cowardly sonofabitch?" And Arthur stepped on the man's throat, pressing until blood spurted out from his mouth and the man stopped gurgling, the light dying from his eyes.

When it was all through, Arthur slumped against the wall, finding that he was out of breath, shaking, and sweating profusely.

He had just killed two men.

Sure, it shouldn't come as that big of a shock to Arthur; he had killed before. But the act always left him with a grim and icy thrill—as if he had just stumbled upon the corpses left by some freak serial killer instead of himself.

In any case, he tried not to think about it. Besides, it was the only thing that could be done. He couldn't risk an all-out fight with the men for fear of being heard by the others down the hall.

But Arthur need not focus on the bodies and the blood nor what perverse excitement it gave him. Eventually, he gathered his mind and focused in on one mission: _Find the key._

Running only on instinct lest he remember he was searching through dead bodies and warm blood, Arthur knelt next to the man whose form lay sprawled over the threshold and searched through his pockets. It was a rather difficult task, considering his hands were still cuffed.

Just when Arthur feared he would have to search the other man for the key, thus wasting more time, his fingers brushed up against something cold and metal. Relief overcoming him, Arthur slipped the key out and fumbled with it before finally unlocking his handcuffs.

Rubbing his sore wrists and stretching his arms that had long been pinned behind him, Arthur cast a look down at the bodies. _Thank God it worked._ Though he didn't know why he had been so worried. After all, he was a master escape artist, so it was only practical that after wriggling out of similar predicaments for centuries he would again be successful. And this time it, he had to admit, had been especially easy. Americans weren't the brightest beings and the guards had left themselves exposed to attacks multiple times, Arthur only choosing to go ahead with his plan as soon as one of the men took his eyes off him—a fatal mistake.

Arthur then took both of the men's handguns, holding them in his hands. As much as he wanted to get the rest of the nations the hell out of that room, he knew he couldn't just go in there, guns blazing, and even have the slightest hope of avoiding the hundreds of rounds that would surely be sent his way.

He needed a plan. And fast.

Knowing the men would come looking for him if he took too long, Arthur decided that the best thing to do was to get the hell out of the bunker. He would be of no use if he was trapped in the place just like everyone else. He tried not to think how selfish that excuse sounded.

Arthur ran the length of the hallway, looking into every room for a possible escape route and hoping to God that no one else was in the bunker.

And, to his utter surprise, no one was. Thank you, sparse American minds.

Finally, after what seemed like an our of searching, Arthur came across a small back room that was completely dark save for the moonlight streaming through a narrow window on the opposite wall.

Rushing forward, his heart pounding with excitement, Arthur tugged hard on the rusty lock until it moved, with an ear-splitting screech. Horrified, Arthur chanced a quick glance over his shoulder.

Good. No one heard.

He continued, going slower this time, until he heard the lock click and he dug the tips of his fingers under the window, pushing upwards. He grunted, his muscles straining, as he struggled to move the old frame, finally getting it to slide smoothly up. Panting, Arthur stuck his head out of the window and looked around.

No one. Perfect.

Giving a short jump, Arthur balanced on his belly as he wriggled his way through the small window. His head was no problem, and he shrugged his shoulders, managing to get them through. But when his whole upper body was free of the frame, Arthur braced his feet against the wall in order to push himself the rest of the way out—and when he did, a sharp pain shot through his pelvis and he hung there, dangling helplessly.

His hips? Really?

"Dammit," Arthur cursed, shifting about until he managed to get his hips succesfully free and then pushed himself out. To avoid landing on his face, Arthur tucked his head and rolled, coming out in a crouch he was sure was worthy of 007. He smirked at himself. Yes, he was James Bond before there even _was _a James Bond.

Now if only he could locate a vodka martini?

Shaken, not stirred.

Distracted by this amusing thought, he didn't notice that someone was looming behind him until a hand came around his mouth and something sharp nudged at his neck.

He stiffened as the figure bent over him and a young man's voice whispered, "Be quiet and let me explain."

_Explain? _As if Arthur would let someone who was currently threatening to slit his throat have a say! But the knife at his skin was persistant, and another softly muttered, "Please" convinced Arthur that this was no enemy.

The Briton relaxed his body so that the young man let go of him and said, "Turn around."

Arthur did so, blinking at the dark form. The man was wearing dark, ripped jeans and a plain black hoodie with the hood pulled up. The only patch of color was a green bandana that was wrapped around the man's nose and mouth. As Arthur took him in, he guessed his height to be around that of his own. The voice sounded like it belonged to someone no older than fourteen.

The boy's hazel eyes gleamed in the pale light as he spoke. "Were they keeping you in there?"

"Yeah. Or did you suppose I fancied contorting myself to get out of a window just for the hell of it?"

The boy smiled behind his eyes. "Sorry. Just have to confirm. Are there more of you in there?"

"Yes. I was just going to look for a way inside so I could ambush the guards or slip the rest of my friends out without alerting anyone."

The boy pondered before saying, "All right. I know a way."

Arthur blinked, surprised. "You've done this before, I presume?"

"Yeah," The boy turned and motioned for Arthur to follow, walking along the wall of the bunker, crouched down, searching for something. "I've been following the Bloodhounds ever since they crossed my path."

"That's not very wise."

"It is if I'm looking for someone." The boy paused at a place in the wall, Arthur joining him and squinting to see the boy's finger moving a foot or so up from the wall. "I figured it was the only thing I could do since the world's gone to hell and all. But the thing is, I know this bunker—actually, I used to play in this place with my siblings when I was little."

Arthur crouched down next to him and asked, "What are you looking at?"

"No. It's what I'm looking _for_. I know all the ways in and out of this bunker, and there's one way that just might suffice in this situation."

"For someone so young, you talk like an old man."

The boy scoffed. "Thanks for reminding me." Before Arthur could ask, the boy exclaimed, "Aha!" and dug his fingers under a rift in the concrete of the wall, pulling slowly. Arthur watched in amazement as a door formed, the cement scraping dustily as it was forced open.

The boy stood and said, panting slightly, "Well, there it is."

"Is _what_, exactly?"

"A tunnel. When they made this bunker, they created an escape tunnel just in case. This bunker acted as a storage unit before it was converted to a shelter in the Cold War, so this tunnel is relatively new. Good thing for us." He got on his hands and knees—as the door was only about three feet high and four feet wide—and crawled inside. Arthur hesitated before he barked, "Come on!"

The tunnel was dark and dank. Arthur wrinkled his nose as he was met with the smell of damp stone. They continued on for a few minutes until they came to a junction that consisted of a small four-by-four room.

Before Arthur could ask, the boy said, "They stored food in here. Again, just in case." And they went on the their way.

They eventually arrived at a room where their backpacks and various other supplies had been thrown. Arthur stopped the boy and motioned to it. "We need those. They're our only supply line."

The boy nodded and, even though it pained Arthur to waste time in his mind, he and the boy removed all of their belongings to safety.

After another minute or so, the boy whispered, "Hey, where are your friends at anyway? Any particular room?"

"Just keep going until you hear voices."

And they did. Another minute yielded the boss's voice. Arthur frowned. Oh, if only there was a way to punch a voice…

"There?"

"Hm?"

"There," the boy pointed with his hand. "Is that them there?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, examining the backs of his fellow nations. The Italies were shaking, Alfred was rigid, and Ivan… was alarmingly calm. "How are we going to get them out?"

"We can't go in there now. There are too many men."

"What, do we just wait?"

"That's the only thing we can do at this point."

"They might be shot if they find out I'm missing!"

The boy shifted nervously. "Well then let's hope they don't find out soon."

They lapsed into silence and it seemed like hours, but could only be about ten minutes, when the boss said, "All right. I think we should check on the guys and see how they liked the limey."

"And what if they didn't like him, boss?" one of the men asked, a smirk on his face.  
The boss smiled. "Then we get that pretty little Italian to fuck." He leered at Feliciano, who broke into tears.

Lovino stiffened, as if he meant to shout something, but he kept his mouth shut, scooting closer to Feliciano, shaking in anger.

_We must rescue them soon_. Arthur thought with angst. He bit his lip until all the men filed out, then turned to the boy who was crouching next to him. "Now?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah. Hurry,"

Feliciano whimpered nearby. "R-Roma… I don't want to go with those men."

"I know, fratello." Lovino said, his voice gravelly with ire. "We won't let them get you. We'll find a way out of here, dammit."

"Not without Artie," Alfred said determinedly. "We need to find him before we leave."

Francis nodded. "I will stay until we do."

Matthew was about to say something, when he gave a squeak as the wall shifted behind him. He moved away and a part of the wall moved to reveal a dark passageway. After a few tense moments, all the nations staring, Arthur stuck his head out and said, "Close your mouths and follow me, will you?"

Without a word, they all filed through the tunnel, though slowly so. Alfred flashed Arthur a look of relief as he went out, telling the Briton with his eyes that he was glad he was okay. Arthur nodded and moved him along, anxious to get out of the bunker as quickly as possible (also because he wasn't quite used to Alfred worrying over _him_). Francis, surprisingly, went last, leaning in to kiss Arthur on the cheek as he moved past him, winking gratefully. Arthur blushed and rolled his eyes, hastily following after him and moving to shut the tunnel door when a man came striding back into the room.

They met eyes for a second, before the man opened his mouth and yelled, "The hostages are escaping!" and lunged toward the door.

Arthur stiffened and fumbled with the door, but it eventually became clear that he wasn't going to be able to fit it back in the frame before the man arrived. Instead, he let go of the door, letting it fall to the floor with a loud _clang_. All the nations stopped abruptly to look back, but Arthur roughly shoved them onward, "Go! Go, you gits!"

Arthur tried to cram himself into the tunnel to avoid the man's grabbing hands, but his ankles were eventually caught and he was being dragged back out.

He scrabbled on his stomach to get away, but it wasn't working. Resigning himself to his fate, Arthur turned onto his back to face his attacker.

Then, as quickly as he was being pulled out, he was stopped. He looked up to see Francis, hands wrapped tightly around Arthur's forearms, looking down at him in panic. Luckily, the man holding his ankles was so distracted by the sudden stop in progress, that he let up a bit—just enough so that Arthur could kick off his attacker and scrambled further back into the tunnel.

The man growled and was about halfway inside himself, when the sound of feet running sounded and the boss shouted, "Not so fast, Stevens! They could lash out in there!"

Relief flooded Arthur until he heard, "Go around the back and catch them there. Don't let them escape!"

"Move it, frog!" Arthur growled, shoving Francis on the rump as he crawled.

"Eh, I charge for my services, cher." Francis wiggled his butt and Arthur huffed in annoyance.

"Shut it and go!"

Finally, they were out. Nations rolled out of the tunnel, jumping to their feet or stumbling. Feliciano looked shaken and was on the verge of tears, while Kiku looked so pale he could pass out. Under his breath he was muttering, "Too close, too close…"

Ivan stood and stretched his back. "Oh, боже всемогущий." he groaned, rubbing his back. "I was nearly bent permanently in half…"

Alfred picked up his backpack and blinked in surprise. "You got our stuff , too?"

"Where to now?" Arthur asked, ignoring Alfred's meaningless question, looking at the boy who was panting himself.

"I… I…" he tried to catch his breath and then seemed to come to a revelation. "Follow me. Fast!"

At that, they all picked up their bags and set off behind him, none of them caring to ask why they were following a stranger.

They could hear the men rounding the back of the bunker behind them, and they picked up their pace exponentially. Before long, they were diving into a large, five-foot-tall drainage pipe, doubling over to keep their heads from scraping the top. Eventually, the pipe got larger until they all could stand upright, the crown of Ivan's head just grazing the damp ceiling.

They all stopped and listened, holding their breaths as the men searched around the drain, then moved on. When they could hear them no more, they all let out sighs of relief and Arthur turned to the boy.

"Thank you for helping us."

"No prob, brother. Anythin' ta thwart the Organization."

Arthur frowned at the boy's sudden change in voice, his heart pounding when he thought he had made a horrible mistake in trusting him. He was about to say something, but Alfred beat him to it.

"Wait," Alfred squinted through the dark. The pipe was dimly lit by moonlight filtering through a small grate at the top. He glared at the boy, not caring if he couldn't see the threat or not. "Who are you anyway? Why did you help us?" His hand was on the grip of his handgun.

The boy responded without hesitation: "M'name's Wynston. That's spelled with a 'y' not an 'i.' And as I told you before, I have a vendetta of my own against the Organization and am intent upon freein' anyone from their murderous clutches."

Alfred cocked his head at the voice—it sounded… familiarly accented. Like those cowboys in old western films. Then he lifted his hand off his gun and his eyes went wide, though the gestures were hidden in such darkness.

"Winnie?"

Wynston's breath hitched for a moment and he hesitated before saying, as if he had been expecting Alfred, "Oh, well hey, Pa."

* * *

Translations:  


боже всемогущий-God almighty

A Word From the Writer: Hey, what did I say? Here's another state! Though I think he'll be easy to identify by his name (and accent). I know he sounds a little... stupid with it, but I plan to write Wynston as an experienced survivalist. Just try not to think of George Bush (like I do) every time his dialogue comes up. Oh crap, I spoiled it for you, didn't I?

And dark!England is awesome to write. The 007 thing I just threw in there. Not really a fan (I think he's a bit overrated, honestly. I like Jason Bourne better). Bond is kind of a manwhore. What a way to drop hints to France, England. XD


	36. The One That Got Away

**New OC, activate!  
**

Warning: Emotional stuff, angst, a physical threat, a chase, someone gets sick, others pass out, all the fun stuff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**The One That Got Away**

"Oh, well hey, Pa."

Alfred felt his legs go weak and tears poured into his eyes. He was thoroughly stunned, and all he could say for a moment was, "Oh my God."

Wynston took the initiative and walked toward Alfred, throwing his arms around him. Alfred eventually did the same, hugging the boy close and crying into his shoulder. "My God, Winnie. Thank God…"

Wynston laughed, half-sobbing. "I told ya not ta call me that…"

"Wait a bloody minute." Arthur snapped. "Do you mind telling us who the hell this is?"

Alfred and Wynston separated and Alfred sniffed, clearing his throat before putting his hand on the boy's shoulder and saying, "Everyone, this is Wynston, or as you know him, Wyoming."

At this, Wynston pulled down his hood and took off his bandana, revealing a young, though knowing, face and eager hazel eyes. "Sorry for spookin' y'all. Didn't mean to. I've been tryin' ta hide my appearance and my voice ever since I escaped from them 'hounds."

Arthur frowned at his accent. He didn't like it, but at least it wasn't the dunder-headed deep southern accent. He was surprised at how deep Wynston's voice was for appearing so young. It was more gravelly and rough than the typical southern accent… but there was _some _knowledge behind his voice, for how else could he have survived this long? He guessed he could call it 'western', but that brought up too many memories of Alfred's idolized cowboy movies for Arthur to care for.

"Escape?" Ludwig said. "They caught you? Did they say anything alluding to where the Organization's headquarters might be?"

Wynston huffed. "And here I was thinkin' y'all be glad ta see me. Guess I was wrong… jerks." When they all stared at him, unamused, Wynston scoffed and said, "No sense of humor, eh? … Yeah, yeah I did get captured. I was with Colton and Ida at the time… don't know where they got off to, but we were separated when we were caught. I don't know what happened to 'em after that, but I haven't seen 'em since."

They all looked to Alfred to explain. "You were with Colorado and Idaho? When? Where?"

"Down near Shoshone Falls not two weeks ago. The same Bloodhound gang that caught you caught us. They said they was gonna drive us to headquarters, wherever that was… but the boss said somethin' about us being too far ta transport and bein' more trouble than we was worth. I don't know what that means, but I hope it's not what I think it is."

Alfred's breath hitched and he began rolling up his sleeves, examining his bare arms. "I… I don't see anything that would indicate that they're in trouble. I haven't felt anything either, wait… how did I not feel you?"

"I suppressed my presence. I've been workin' on it as soon as the first trouble started in the capital. And even though I knew it must be you who I was feelin', I had ta make sure. Too much freaky shit has been goin' on 'round here for me ta just walk up to ya and reveal myself."

Feliciano, meanwhile, was whimpering. "U-uh, G-Germany? It's d-dark and my wr-wrists hurt…"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Arthur said, walking over to Feliciano and taking the key out of his pocket. "I'll get these handcuffs off of everybody."

Once Matthew was free of his, he quickly walked over to Wynston and hugged him. "I knew you'd make it."

Wynston snorted. "O' course I would, Uncle Matt."

Matthew let go of him when he heard Sadiq (who had been rid of his own handcuffs) slide to the floor with a pained grunt. "Dammit… hurts…"

The Canadian knelt down next to him and pulled up his pant leg, checking his bandaged ankle. "Sit still. How long have you been bleeding like this…?"

"For… about…" Sadiq found it hard to catch his breath and he was a little dizzy. "About two hours…"

"Ai-ya," Yao said. "He needs fluids."

"Here," Ivan handed Matthew a flask.

The Canadian looked quizzically up at him. "Uh, Russia… alcohol will only make his blood run faster."

Ivan frowned. "Why must you all think that all I drink is vodka? Is water."

"Oh," Matthew said, unstoppering the flask and tipping it up to Sadiq's lips. "Th-thanks…"

That reminded Ludwig. The German turned to his brother and ordered, "East, take off your shirt."

Gilbert knew what he was asking, but feigned ignorance. "Heh, West, this is not the time for stripping…"

"Stop being a smartass, and do what I say!"

"Okay, okay! Jeez…" He took the shirt slowly off of him, wincing as the movement caused his still-marked skin to stretch. "_Scheiße_…"

Ludwig moved forward to check and _tsk_ed. "You've bled through your bandages."

"Dammit," Gilbert spat. "Will they _ever _heal? … Gott, I-I need to sit… tired…" The albino bent to do so before Ludwig could stop him, giving a startled grunt and falling face-forward. Ludwig caught him just before he hit the ground and laid him gently down.

"East?" Ludwig said, panic rising in his voice. "East? East! Don't you fuck with me now! Wake up!"

Feliciano broke into tears. "No, no, don't let him die, Germany, please don't let him die!"

"I doubt that he's dead." Arthur said, going over to him and checking the pulse in his neck. "No… he's just passed out. He's lost a lot of blood and overexerted himself."

"Che," Lovino scoffed. "At least the idiot's not blabbing about how awesome he is anymore. Damn moron deserves to be silent for a while."

Ludwig rounded on him and snatched him up by the collar, making the older Italian whimper and Feliciano cry harder. "Say that again, Lovino! Say that again and I swear, I'll make_ you_ silent!"

"Germany! Please don't hurt my fratello!" Feliciano begged.

"Go ahead," Ivan smiled cruelly, inching closer to get a better view. "In my opinion both him and Gilbert have been annoying. The arrogant ass and the whiny bitch should be made quiet for a while, da?"

"Ivan," Alfred warned. "This is not your fight. Don't escalate it."

"Oh, da?" Ivan sneered. "You mean like_ you _do all the time, Alfred?"

"Bastard," Alfred growled, advancing toward him. They both shared a short smile, both knowing very well that neither would hurt each other but staging a fake fight to avoid the other nations becoming suspicious of them. Still, Ivan always managed to piss him off even if they were just pretending. Ivan smirked a bit, noticing the stiffness in Alfred's jaw.

Francis groaned at the tension. "Ugh, can we all not love each other? This is what happens when the world is devoid of love!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and snapped, "Stop rambling, obnoxious frog. If you had your way, everyone in the world would love each other _exponentially _so."

Francis leered. "And what is wrong with that, cher?"

"And why did I expect that to be your response?" Arthur feigned pondering. "Oh, yes, because you're nothing but a slimy, perverted frog!"

"Ugh…" Kiku had his arms wrapped around his stomach.

Yao gave him a worried look. "What's wrong?"

"The pipe… so confined… the fighting… my belly…" Kiku was as pale as a sheet. His throat convulsed and he gave a harsh groan as he staggered a bit down the pipe before turning his back on them and retching.

All the fighting stopped and they all watched Kiku as he righted himself and wiped his mouth, turning around with downcast eyes and a red face. "Sōrī,"

After a moment, Arthur sighed, rubbing a temple, "Okay. Enough of this quarreling. This isn't the time and, quite frankly, I couldn't give a damn about anything other than getting the hell away from that bunker."

"Agreed," Ludwig chimed in, positioning his unconscious brother so that he was sitting up against the curved wall of the pipe. "We need to leave here. They could double back and look more thoroughly when they do not find us."

"H-hai…" Kiku stuttered, walking back over to join them, though standing a bit further off than before. He looked at Wynston. "Where does this pipe lead?"

"A small lake." Wynston answered. "There's a river goin' off from it. We can follow it out of Yellowstone."

"We're _still _in Yellowstone?" Feliciano asked, eyes wide. "Ve~! It's so big!"

Francis sighed lecherously. "If only I could hear you say that under different circumstances…"

Arthur rounded on Francis. "Shut it, frog, or I just might not be there to save your arse again!"

"Shh!" Matthew hissed, still crouched beside Sadiq. "They might hear you. This pipe amplifies sound!"

Arthur was about to chew Francis out in a quieter voice when they heard mens' voices around the mouth of the pipe outside. They all froze and looked in that direction. A few more moments passed before the sound of boots sloshing through the water echoed back to them.

Alfred immediately turned around and snatched Wynston up by the arm, pushing him ahead of him. When the cowboy looked back quizzically, Alfred muttered, "Get moving. You're our guide!"

Wynston nodded and started off, motioning for them to follow. Ludwig bent down and hefted his brother onto his back, wrapping Gilbert's slack arms around his neck and holding his legs as he carried him further down the pipe. And the goddamn albino was heavy. What the hell had Gilbert been eating in these lean times anyway? Not that he wasn't grateful—it was one less stomach to fill. The feel of Gilbert's heart beating against his back reassured Ludwig that he was still alive.

Matthew, meanwhile, pulled Sadiq to his feet—well, _foot_—struggling to move him along. Eventually, Francis came to join them, wrapping one of Sadiq's arms around his shoulders and both helping him hobble along down the pipe.

Yao followed closely beside Kiku, who was looking faint again. He held onto his shoulder to steady the younger nation. Lovino and Feliciano were somewhere in front; the older Italian, still shaken from his earlier encounter with Ludwig, clinging to Feliciano, who was whimpering.

Arthur, Ivan, and Alfred brought up the rear. It was pitch dark, so they had to hold onto each other in order to know where they all were. Ivan and Arthur had their arms closest to the wall stretched out, feeling the damp length of the pipe, however slimy and gross it was. They couldn't afford to run into walls now. Alfred walked in the middle of them, his left hand holding Arthur's and his right snagging Ivan's. The Russian seemed to startle when he felt Alfred's touch, but within moments he had intertwined their fingers and squeezed reassuringly. On the other side of Alfred, Arthur did the same with the hand in his own. Two of the men he loved the most both holding his hands, one oblivious to the fact that the other mattered so much to the American. It was so weird!

"It's all right," Arthur muttered. "We'll make it out, if Wynston proves to have a better sense of direction than you do." Even though Alfred couldn't see him, he knew Arthur was smirking.

Alfred gave him a playful shove. Not expecting it (and blind in the first place), Arthur stumbled, his shoes scraping against the floor and disturbing the water as he tried to catch himself on the wall. The whole procession stopped, fearing it was the men.

Finally, Arthur whispered harshly, "It's me, you daft blighters! Now move!"

Just as the words were out of his mouth, splashing could be heard farther down the tunnel as men ran to catch up to them, alerted to their presence. The flicker of several flashlights lit up the walls behind them.

Arthur tugged Alfred's hand, running with the rest of the group. Ivan did the same, though more roughly so, and the American quickly found his arms aching with the effort to keep up with their uneven strides. He eventually snatched his hands back, one going to slip out his handgun from its holster just in case. Beside him, Arthur slipped out his pistol and cocked it, not caring about the sound now that the Bloodhounds already knew they were there. Ivan parted his coat and took out his AK-47, loading it as he ran.

The tunnel was straight for a while, causing them to be spotted quicker. Alfred could practically feel the flashlights bounce off his back as they were shone on them in a flurry of harsh beams. All at once, the men behind them uttered excited cries, speeding up, forcing the nations to pick up their pace as well.

Finally, the pipe curved, and the flashlights disappeared for a few seconds when they rounded the corner. Not long after, they came at a fork in the tunnel, and, having already been flustered and pressed for time by the men fast approaching behind them (and barely being able to see for the dim light), they all went in different directions, some to the right and some to left. Arthur didn't even know he was separated from Alfred until he reached over to grab his arm, finding only empty air where the appendage should have been.

"Alfred?" Arthur whispered. He could hear other nations running beside him, but they were too fearful to answer. "Alfred?" Arthur said a little louder, and someone came running up close to him. The Briton reached out again, groping in the dark before finally snagging an arm.

The other man flinched, and snatched his arm away. "Let go of me, dammit!"

"Lovino?" Arthur asked, and the older Italian gave a 'hmph' in answer, Feliciano clearly heard whimpering alongside him. Arthur grabbed a hold of his arm again, not caring when Lovino growled and tried to get away. "Where's Alfred? Have you seen him?"

"I can't exactly _see _anything in this dark-ass pipe, now can I?" Lovino snarled and wrenched himself free.

"Did you hear him?"

"No, dammit. Now stop asking questions and run!"

"Oh God," Arthur now remembered. There were two ways to be taken, and now it occurred to him that Alfred must have taken the other way, the blockheaded git. "The other tunnel at the fork. How many of the others took it, do you suppose?"

Lovino puffed as he ran, dragging Feliciano along beside him. "I don't know, dammit!" Although his tone was aggressive, there was a tremor of fear in his voice.

Behind them, the Bloodhound men raced after them, flashlights once again seeking them out. Arthur picked up his pace then and took down who he saw: Lovino and Feliciano were obviously there with him. Up ahead a few paces was Sadiq, flanked on either side by Francis and Matthew, who were helping him hurriedly along. At the front of the group was Wynston. Arthur scanned his eyes all around the tunnel, even chancing a glance behind him, to check if those were all who took this part of the pipe and found out that no one else but them and the men pursuing them were present.

Arthur felt his heart start to pound, if it wasn't pounding hard already. _Dammit, Alfred!_ He knew he should have microchipped the younger nation when the technology was available, but no, he was afraid it would intrude on Alfred's private life. Damn the considerate gentleman part of him.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: _Two roads diverged in a yellow woo__d... _Yeah, right, like I would ever let _that_ happen! They certainly won't like tunnels anymore after this, that's for sure... if they don't get caught again. Muhaha.


	37. Tunnel Rats

**Oh shit, it's the Labyrinth! (Look out for David Bowie!)(/joking). XD  
**

Warning: Angst, a chase, suspense.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Tunnel Rats**

Kiku's lungs were aching with the amount of air he took in and he was getting a painful stitch in his side, but he did not stop to recover. He did not even dare slow to look over his shoulder.

Quick footsteps approaching made him flinch.

"Where are the others?" Ludwig's voice beside him sounded anxious.

Kiku stiffened. "The others…? You mean, they are gone?"

"Ja, they must have taken the other pipe." The German's voice was hard to understand with his loud and ragged breathing. Kiku looked through the gloom to Ludwig's back, where Gilbert still lay limply, held up only by the fact that Ludwig's back was humped over. "Scheiße," Ludwig cursed. "I knew this would happen."

"Who is here?" Kiku asked, still too afraid to look behind him.

Ludwig huffed. "Us, Ivan, Yao, and Alfred."

Kiku felt sick to the stomach with anxiety. His ill feeling only escalated when he heard the shouting of the Bloodhounds gaining on them further down the pipe. He prayed for a miracle, and all at once, they received one: the curve in the tunnel. Picking up their pace, they all sped around it, Kiku stopping abruptly as he spotted a small, three-foot-high drain leading off the main one. "Ludwig-san!" he whispered harshly, catching the German on the shoulder as he tried to speed past and pointing to the opening of the drain at the bottom of the concave-slanting wall.

Ludwig nodded and stopped, crawling on his belly into the drain with haste, Gilbert lying limply on top of his back. Yao went next, giving Kiku a worried look, knowing what he was going to experience once inside, entering the pipe as fast as possible. Once he was inside, Kiku motioned for Alfred to go. He and Ivan had a little, time-consuming squabble about who would go in first (and whether the decision would determine the level of their cowardice) before Ivan finally shoved Alfred over to the drain and glared at him until Alfred had disappeared into the drain.

Ivan clapped Kiku on the back, making the man stiffen. "Good eye, comrade." Mens' voices were closing in, and Ivan took this as impetus to get down onto all fours and crawl through the drain.

Kiku hesitated, staring at the drain as Ivan's feet disappeared. Oh God. First the tunnel in the bunker, then the pipe, then a _smaller _pipe? Today just wasn't his day and he already felt another good retch bubbling in his stomach and burning his throat with the thought of crawling into yet another claustrophobically small space.

Then the sound of several feet fast approaching the corner drove Kiku onto his hands a knees and darting into the hole. Just as he tucked his legs in, they came rushing past, not minding to examine the pipe for an instant before continuing on into the dark.

Kiku was so frantic to get out of the tunnel, that he crawled at break-neck speed… right into Ivan's ass. The Russian gave a growl, and Kiku quickly backed away, allowing the younger nation to amble on at a speed favorable to him.

Ivan was not one to be rushed in any circumstance.

Finally (and it really was finally, because Kiku didn't think he could stand it for much longer without passing out), they all pushed out of the pipe into (thankfully) another large main pipe.

As they all stood up and righted themselves, squinting in the dark to get their bearings (though not succeeding in the least), Alfred straightened, breathing hard, and asked, "W-what the hell are we gonna to do? We're lost!"

The question had barely passed his lips before Kiku—who was at the back of the group—turned quickly, peering down the length of the tunnel behind them as footsteps echoed off the wall and got gradually faster.

"They have found us." he whispered, hand instinctively going down to grasp the grip of his katana.

Ivan turned to look as well. "Hm, so they have." And he pushed aside his coat, producing his rifle.

"That's it!" Alfred growled, taking his gun out as well. "I'm gonna kill these bastards. I'm tired of being chased around!"

"Nein!" Ludwig said. They all looked defiantly at him. But the German stood his ground. "East… East might be hurt. I cannot afford to be in a fight with him."

"Then run now." Ivan said. "We will cover you."

"No," Yao snapped. "Too many. We will lose without the others' help. We should all just run."

"I said I'm not running anymore!" Alfred rounded on him. "Who're you to tell me what I can and can't do?" He was silent as they glared at each other, the footsteps getting louder. "Leave if you're not willing."

"Nein." Ludwig said firmly. "We will not be split up again."

"Then what are we supposed to—?" The words were barely out of Alfred's mouth before shadowy forms ran around the bend and right at them.

* * *

"Sadiq, are you doing all right?"

"Evet," the Turk panted, though he sounded pained. "I will be… okay."

Matthew sighed. He knew Sadiq was lying. It was quite obvious when he was. Francis gave Matthew a worried look, and Matthew and he shared the same thought between them: They needed to find a place to rest, and if they didn't find one soon, Sadiq would most likely lose consciousness.

They rounded a bend (Matthew knew this because Wynston muttered a pained 'Sonofabitch!' before saying, "Yup. That's a wall!") and he felt his way along with one hand outstretched, feeling the wall. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as his hand slipped into a nook. Matthew was about to pull it back out when an idea struck him.

Acting quickly, he tugged Sadiq around, not minding his alarmed squirming and mutterings, stuffing him in the three-foot-wide crevice. Francis followed, pushing Matthew further down into it. Matthew held his breath, hoping that it was large enough to contain all of them.

Francis caught Arthur by the arm (as evident by his harsh "Bloody hell!") and pulled him forcibly inside, subduing him with a hand clamped over his mouth.

"Wynston, Lovi, Feli! Come here!" Francis called, and the nations and the state felt their way (agonizingly slow) to the crack in the wall. Feliciano was pulled in first, shuttled in along with his brother ("Get your fucking hands _off _me, wine bastard!" "Heh, it's not like I can, cher.") into the middle, Wynston cramming himself in just in time, the Bloodhounds running past without a second glance, their shouting too loud to hear their heavy breathing.

After a minute or so, when they could no longer hear the mens' footsteps or see the streams from their flashlights, Wynston shimmied out, followed by Arthur, Francis, and everyone else.

When they were out, Arthur promptly punched Francis hard in the arm.

"Aïe! That hurt, mon chéri." He pouted as he rubbed the forming bruise.

"You bloody well deserved it, pulling me in there like that with no explanation at all!" Arthur snapped back.

"What did you expect me to do?" Francis flashed back. "Give you an entire speech about why I was trying to save your life?"

Arthur was about to retort when Wynston said, "Hey, how far does that crack go inta that wall?"

Matthew put his arm through until he could feel the other side… the open space of another pipe. "All the way through. Come on." He pulled Sadiq with him, Francis helping, the others following quickly, stuffing themselves into the tiny space with much huffing and swearing. Once they made it out on the other side, Wynston pointed down the tunnel.

"That way," he said. "I don't see any lights or hear anythin'."

They all conceded with hesitation, now more than ever just wanting to get out of the damned pipe system.

Within moments, they blindly rounded a corner, running at a break-neck speed, not noticing until it was too late, that they were running into a group of people that seemed to be lying in wait for them. Matthew had just enough time to twist Sadiq around so that he was out of harm's way and give a startled yelp before he and the others collided with the strangers.

* * *

Translations:

Evet-Yes

A Word From the Writer: Aaaannnnd, cue snowball! Lol, if they formed themselves into a human boulder they could totally run those men down like Indiana Jones! *geekalicious* And how big are they tunnels anyway? Well, you're about to find out!


	38. From Problem to Problem

**Of course things get worse!  
**

Warning: Angst, chase, suspense, injuries, someone passes out, drama.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**From Problem to Problem**

They all tumbled on top of each other, writhing in a heap of bodies.

It was so dark that it was hard to make out faces, even if they were close to their own. At first, no one dared speak, afraid of what would happen if they did.

Then, "… Dammit, Ivan, you're crushing my arm!"

"Nyet. I am nowhere near you, Alfred." Ivan's voice came from a few feet away in the pile.

Alfred wrinkled his brow. "What…? Then who's…?" The American's heart leaped into his throat at the sight of the shadowy form moving near him.

"Alfred?" Hands reached out to find his shoulders, moving along them to his face. They lingered a bit on his glasses before venturing higher to brush over his ahoge. Alfred shivered and the other man pulled him into an embrace. "Alfred, it is you. Thank God…"

"Artie? What the hell?" Alfred looked around. "Is everyone else here, too?" He stumbled out of the pile and said, "Wynston? Wynston!"

"Right here, Pa."

"Oh, thank goodness."

Ludwig stood and slipped his brother off of his back, leaning him up against a wall. "Sound off!"

"Alfred!"

"Wynston!"

"Arthur,"

"Yao,"

"Ugh… K-Kiku…"

"Dammit, fratello, stop clinging to me—Lovino!"

"Pastaaa~!"

A pause.

"Okay… so Feliciano's here. Ahem, continue."

"M-Matthew,"

"Francis~!"

There was a harsh cough. "S-Sadiq…"

"Ivan,"

"Right," Ludwig said, glancing over at the Prussian passed out beside him to make sure he was still there. "And Gilbe—wait, bruder!"

"What's going on?" Arthur demanded hesitantly. It took a lot to make Ludwig sound _that _frightened. "Is Gilbert well?"

"He's gone!" Ludwig said, looking around, reaching out blindly in the dark. "Verdammt. What I wouldn't give for a flashlight… I must have dropped it in the tunnels."

"Everyone, feel around for Gilbert!" Arthur commanded and immediately felt a hand grope his behind. "Francis!"

"Quoi, cher? I am just looking~"

"Then look somewhere else!"

"Oh… but it feels like I need to investigate more here~"

"Get your slimy hands off me, frog!"

"Fine," Francis moved off of him and not a second later, there was a yell and a slapping sound. Francis groaned. "Aïe! What did you do that for, chéri?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, wine bastard, and keep your hands _off _me and my fratello!"

"Francis, this is serious. Could you please act it?" Arthur snapped.

Francis smirked in the dark. "But, cher, I am _firmly _serious."

Arthur huffed and muttered a 'shut up', turning around to look, only to bump his nose into something solid. He peered up.

"Looking for something, comrade?" Ivan asked, and at first Arthur was confused. Then he realized that his hands were_ way _too low to be good. He quickly snatched them up and laughed weakly, darting past Ivan and nearly tripping over Sadiq—who was still sitting on the floor.

"Hey! Watch your feet, British klutz!"

Arthur apologized and was just about to feel around an unchecked part of the wall when he felt hands grab him and pull him up close to a hard chest, spinning him around in the process. A knife was pressed to his neck. The hands holding him were shaking and he could feel blood ooze from a shallow cut on his throat from the tip of the blade.

"Nobody move!" Everyone froze. The man clicked on a flashlight in his other hand, holding it under his chin. "I have an stuffy British nag and I'm not afraid to use him!"

Arthur immediately went from scared out of his mind to furious to the core. He wriggled out of the man's grip and snatched up the flashlight, pointing it at him so that the light attacked his eyes.

"Gilbert, you selfish arse! We were looking for you!"

Gilbert threw his hands up to shield his eyes from the harsh light and squinted. "Heh, don't get unawesomely upset, fairy princess, I was only joking. Kesesese!"

Ludwig marched over to him and yanked on his ear. Gilbert gave a harsh cry. "Du verdammter Blödmann! What is wrong with you?"

"Es tut mir leid! Es tut mir leid!" Gilbert said until Ludwig let go. In the light of the flashlight, Ludwig looked even more scary than in regular daylight when angry. "Jeez," Gilbert rubbed his ear. "None of you can take a joke."

"That was no joke!" Ludwig growled. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! You are lucky I didn't pull your ear off!"

Ivan took out his pipe. "Gilbert is in need of some punishment, da? I would be happy to oblige~"

Gilbert backed himself against the wall. "Wait! You all thought I was dead and now here I am, safe and sound, and you'll let that psychopath kill me?!"

Arthur shrugged. "Well, you _would _deserve it."

"I cannot save you this time, ami." Francis replied.

"What did you just call me, Gilbert?" Ivan prompted, smiling creepily as he patted his pipe in the palm of his gloved hand.

"Nothing! My speech is slurred!" Gilbert slid down the wall to sit at the foot. "Ha… Damn, all that joking has me winded."

"Here," Matthew said, venturing forward. "Let me check your back—"

"Hayır," Sadiq grumbled from on the floor. "I… my ankle… I need help standing."

Matthew paused, midst, unsure of what to do.

Yao stepped forward. "I will do." He crouched down to lift up Gilbert's shirt; it was soaked in blood. He stuck out his hand and motioned with his fingers. "Flashlight," Arthur handed it to him and they all watched as Yao ran his fingers over the bandages, examining them. Gilbert flinched, biting back a groan.

"Ai-ya," Yao shook his head. "I am surprised that you could stand."

"Kesese! I am so awesome I can do anything when I'm sick." Gilbert laughed again, but was cut off by a raspy cough. "Uh… Yao… turn-turn that flashlight back on. It's so damn dark…"

"Dude," Alfred said. "What're you talking about? It's still on."

Gilbert stiffened. "W-what? What's going on?"

"He's lost too much blood." Arthur grabbed one of Gilbert's hands. "Your hands are cold."

"Thanks for informing me." Gilbert said flatly, snatching his hand back. "I'm not going to pass out again, am I?"

"You'd better not." Arthur replied, handing him a flask. "Water. Drink it. Lots of it."

"But… I'm not that thirsty… more sleepy…"

"Drink it bloody git or you'll die!"

Gilbert grudgingly took the water, mumbling something about awesomely haunting them all if they let him die. He drank down a few gulps, but a growl from Arthur told him to drink more.

When Arthur was satisfied, Gilbert gave back the flask, trying to get to his feet, though not succeeding.

"Don't move," Ludwig walked over. "I will carry you."

Gilbert snorted. "Like I would let that happen… consciously. You'll only hurt yourself, bruder. And you need your back."

"Now is not the time to be gal ant, bastard." Lovino growled.

"I will carry him," Ivan suggested with a smile. Gilbert tensed. "If he wants."

Gilbert looked stuck, but he eventually sighed and said, "All right. My bruder is tired. And don't you try to tell me otherwise, West, because I know you." Ludwig, who had been about to say something, shut his mouth. Gilbert looked up at Ivan. "Just… be gentle, ja?"

All Ivan gave in answer was a smile, and Gilbert looked to be having second thoughts as he was scooped up and he clung to Ivan's back. He made sure to keep his hands clasped around the Russian's throat just in case.

With that, they all headed out of the bunker, emerging in a shallow river. They slowed so that no one could hear their splashing and looked around.

"Where are we?" Kiku asked, hand on his katana where it hung at his side.

Wynston walked out further, scanning the forest before them. "I dunno… gimme a second…"

Sadiq heard men calling to each other not far behind them, voices echoing out of the mouth of the tunnel from which they just came. "We might not have a second." He was breathing heavily, as if he couldn't get enough air. "I… don't feel well."

Matthew clutched the man's arm more securely as he said, "We can't keep running like this. We have to find shelter. We need to rest and give Sadiq and Gilbert some time to get better."

"Wynston?" Alfred asked anxiously.

"I'm tryin'!" he flashed back, more out of fear than anger.

"Well, try harder!" Arthur snapped, slipping his pistol out of its holster.

"Dammit," Wysnton swore, practically pulling out his hair. "Marge is a lot better at this!"

Alfred felt his heart drop into his stomach at the name and he felt a new rush of tears come to his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. The time for grieving was over. Fixing all of this would be what his baby wanted, and he wasn't going to let her death slow him down. She still had her other brothers and sisters that needed help.

Wynston then gave a cry of triumph and pointed to a dense copse of trees just across the river.

Without a word, everyone followed. They were anxious to get out of the open as quickly as possible, but they also wanted to keep quiet. So they made their way across the river at an agonizingly slow pace, on tiptoe as not to disturb the water, the sound of mens' voices getting closer and closer every second.

Since Matthew was helping Sadiq along, he was the slowest. And everyone in their haste seemed to forget about him. His heart pounded against his ribs as the voices neared, sounding close to the mouth of the tunnel. Beside him, Sadiq's shallow breaths came faster.

And then his foot caught a rock.

A cry clawed its way out of his throat, but at the last moment Matthew thought to hold it in. All he gave was a squeak as he fell, throwing both arms around Sadiq and moving so that he took the most damage instead of the already injured man.

He gave a grunt, practically a scream in his throat, as he landed on his knee on the hard stones of the river, feeling a great shock of pain shoot up from it. Held tightly to his side, safe from the larger rocks of the river, Sadiq's breath warmed Matthew's cheek.

"Are you all right?" Matthew asked.

Sadiq gave him a dazed look, as if he were sleeping with his eyes open. "Mattie…" His words were barely a whisper. "My damn leg…" And he closed his eyes.

Matthew felt Sadiq's full weight slump against him and the Canadian's heart gave an alarmed flutter. He shook the Turk.

"Sadiq?" he whispered. Then his voice rose to what sounded close to a squeak. "Sadiq, wake up. Sadiq!" The men's voices reminded him that they had to get to the trees. But everyone had left him…

… a shoe appeared by him, and Matthew nearly shrieked, looking up.

Alfred and Ivan were standing over them.

"Sadiq, he—" Matthew began, but Alfred shushed him.

"Later," he muttered, scooping Matthew up in his arms. Ivan did the same with Sadiq. At that, they broke into a dead run, not caring if anyone heard or not. It was either that, or go the slow, cautious way and risk being spotted.

They got to the trees just in time to see a group of men emerge from the tunnel, looking around, flashlights flickering on the trees.

"Down!" Kiku hissed and everyone dropped to the forest floor just as the flashlights passed over their heads. Matthew gave a grunt of pain as he knee was jostled, but bit his lip to keep in whimpers, tears gathering at the edges of his eyes at the pain.

A few minutes passed before the men left, flashlights fading into the distance. They all waited a few moments to make sure they were gone before rising to their feet.

Alfred set Matthew down on his good leg, giving him a worried look. "What happened?"

Matthew exhaled shakily before saying, "I fell,"

"Did you hurt yourself, mon fils?" Francis asked frantically, shouldering his way over to him.

Matthew swallowed. For once he felt grateful for Francis's concern. He may not have been able to have experienced it again if something had gone terribly wrong. "My knee… it doesn't feel broken, though."

Yao walked over and stooped to examine it. Gently, he pushed on the kneecap with his finger. The joint moved, as if floating, and Matthew gave a whimper at the pain. The Chinese man stood. "Dislocated,"

Francis gave a relieved sigh. "Oh, merci Dieu," He reached out and ran his fingers down Matthew's cheeks. "I will not let you out of my sight again, lapin. I'm sorry,"

"You don't have to apologize, Papa," Matthew said with a little smile. Then he remembered. "Sadiq?" He looked at Ivan, who was still holding Sadiq in his arms. Matthew walked over to him, fingers pressing against the Turk's neck to find a pulse. At first, he couldn't find it, and he panicked. But when his fingers brushed over the soft heartbeat, he relaxed. "He's still alive." Matthew murmured. He blinked his eyes, startled that his vision was blurring. He reached up to adjust his glasses and felt wetness trickle down his cheek. Why was he crying? _Just relief, _Matthew mused. If anything, Matthew didn't want to be part of the reason the man died.

Ivan looked down at Sadiq. "He is so limp. He must have fainted."

"Oh verdammt," Gilbert growled, leaning up against a tree. Ludwig held his arm so that he wouldn't fall. "Not another one."

Feliciano gave a soft sob. "Is… is Sadiq going to die?"

"No, you idiot," Lovino snapped back, though he sounded apprehensive. "He's just passed out. Like the potato bastard's brother just a few minutes ago…"

"We need to get him to a safe place." Arthur said. "Him and Gilbert both. We can't move around a lot until they get better. We'll have to find some sort of shelter to camp out in for a few days…"

"I think there's a town close by." Wynston said. "We could go there. I'm sure most of the houses are abandoned."

_"No,"_ Alfred said, so harshly that everyone tensed. "No, I'm not going back to another town. Not after…" His voice broke and he looked at the ground. He cleared his throat and said, his voice calmer now, "It's too dangerous. We can't risk it."

Wynston looked hurt by the tone in his father's voice. "Pa… I've scouted this town millions of times since the Uprisin'. I knew a lot of families there. They're all gone. This ain't a city. It's a few small neighborhoods with a shoppin' center an' a school. There's nothin' of worth there. That's why everyone left. There's nothin' else to loot, no resources to come by. But as far as I know, you have everythin' you need. How do we know if we don't try?"

"No," Alfred insisted. "Don't you try to convince me. That happened the last time!" Alfred wasn't aware that his voice had risen to a shout until everyone was staring at him.

Wynston blinked and his voice grew small. "But, there are plenty of you to defend whatever shelter we choose. An' ya still have weapons an' ammo, an'—"

Alfred's mind was filled with panic and rage, too lost in his emotions to think his words through before he said them, and before he knew it, he was shouting, "You're sister's dead because of that kind of thinking!"

The look of grief in Wynston's hazel eyes made Alfred's heart plummet. His mouth was dry and he was shaking. He didn't know what to say.

Wynston cleared his throat. "Which one?" It was almost as if he didn't want to know the answer.

Alfred felt his eyes burn again, but he _would not _cry in front of his son, though Marge's death was still so fresh in his mind. "Montana,"

"Marge?" Wynston said, his voice small as he looked at the ground. He expelled a shaky breath. "How?"

Alfred shook his head, not wanting to recall the details. "You don't need to know that."

"She was murdered, wasn't she?" Wynston flashed Alfred a stony look. "That would be the only reason I could think of as to why you refuse to tell me."

Alfred chewed his bottom lip, his throat growing scratchy. "Yes," he croaked.

Wynston looked at the ground again, clenching and unclenching his fists. After a moment, he looked back up again, glaring in hate. "You're lyin'!"

Alfred stared at him in disbelief. "No, son, I'm not."

Wynston kept up his anger. "You are! She's just… gone. Somewhere, right? She left an'… an' you don't know if she's alive or not, but she's Marge an' she can shoot the edge of a card at ninety feet, and she can handle herself, an'…" His eyes filled with tears.

Alfred felt his own tears coming on, but he warded them away as he put a hand on Wynston's shoulder. "Rider, you know I wouldn't lie about this."

"N-no…" Wynston sniffed and wiped his face—much in the same way Alfred did with his sleeve. Yep, it was obvious that Alfred had raised him, Arthur couldn't help but notice as he studied the snot on his sleeve with distaste. "I know… but she's _Marge_. She was the last one I thought… she could make it…"

Alfred wanted to embrace him, but he knew it would damage the state's pride. So he just continued to look at him as Wynston softly cried, the state finishing after a minute and taking a couple of deep, tremulous breaths.

"I…" Alfred rubbed at his eyes in frustration. When would the hurt stop? "I shouldn't have told you this here, not now… I'm sorry I yelled at you, but the last time I saw her as herself was before she went into a town. When she came back…" He exhaled heavily. "I just don't want the same fate for you, son."

Wynston nodded and gave a watery smile. "It's fine. But your arm…" He motioned to Alfred's upper arm. "Did it hurt?"

Alfred put a hand over the scar, hidden beneath a blood-soaked sleeve, pressing it until he had to grit his teeth for the pain. Somehow doing that made him feel closer to Marge and less guilty for her death. "It still hurts."

"So I guess the town is a no go?" Arthur asked, anxious to move on.

"No," Alfred said, straightening. He was determined to persevere for Marge. "No, you're right, Wynston. We're perfectly capable of protecting ourselves in a large group. And if the town is near, it would be pretty desolate. I don't want to be on the run anymore." This was it. He wouldn't let his fears hold him back. Not now. _I'm staying strong for you, baby girl._

Wynston motioned through the trees. "That way, then."

* * *

No translations

Quoi?-What?

Du verdammter Blödmann-You fucking dumbass

Es tut mir leid-I'm sorry

Mon fils-My son

A Word From the Writer: Off to another town! I must warn you, things from here on out are about to get a lot more intense. Let's just say they are forced to further acknowledge the horrible reality of their situation... Btw, that whole "Shooting the edge of a card at 90 ft." is a reference to Annie Oakley, one of (if not the best) female sharpshooter in history. And yes, she could actually split a card by its edge at a distance of 90 ft. Yeah, no one fucked with her.

So, lot's to look forward to... and think about for a week until my next post. XD


	39. Safehouse

**Here come the troubles...  
**

Warning: Angst, injuries, RusAme fluff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Safehouse**

They were in the town within ten minutes, Francis helping Matthew limp along and Ivan carrying the still unconscious Sadiq.

The group made sure to stay as hidden as possible, even though the town appeared abandoned. They kept to the shadows and as quiet as death.

Alfred chose a house placed a good distance away from most of the others. The place was two stories tall with a basement. Most of the furniture was intact as well as the windows, though it looked to have been looted, as a T.V. stand devoid of said device thus proved. Glass littered the floor beneath some windows and the lock on the front door was completely punched in, a hole in the wood from where it was once nailed.

Ludwig studied it. "I don't like that. We will have to board this door up."

"How the hell will we get out, then, potato dumbass?" Lovino hissed back, using his scorn to hide his fear.

"There is a door at the back." Ivan said, returning to the living room after inspecting the house, having placed Sadiq on the couch upon entry. "And the lock is still intact."

"The windows will have to be boarded, too." Yao added.

"The hammer falls will echo throughout the town." Arthur said, sitting down in a torn armchair. "Let's hope that everyone truly has left."

"We will go out tomorrow," Alfred said. "We'll get wood and check around. But one whiff of another person and we're out. We can't afford to take anymore risks."

Francis helped Matthew to a chair and sat him down in it. "Try not to move, d'accord, lapin?" He then said to Alfred, "You will have to fix his knee."

Alfred nodded and knelt in front of his brother. "Hold his legs down." he instructed Francis, and the Frenchman complied. He then looked up at Matthew, who looked pale and was breathing rather heavily. "This is gonna hurt a little."

"Dammit, Al," Matthew said, squinting his eyes shut. "You don't have to tell me. Just get on with it."

Alfred looked back down at Matthew's dislocated knee and grabbed the Canadian's ankle. Gently, he lifted the leg until it was at a forty-five degree angle. At that point, Matthew yelped and said, "N-no, Alfred. Stop."

Alfred set his leg back down. He felt guilty that Matthew was like this. He should have looked out more for his brother. "I'm gonna try again. Tell me when you can't go any further."

Matthew nodded and bit his lip, Alfred moving his leg slowly upwards again. The process of ups and downs continued until tears escaped Matthew's eyes at the pain. It felt like his whole leg was on fire.

The whole while, Francis held Matthew's thighs down, keeping him from jerking away in pain and further hurting himself. He saw Matthew crying and he said, "I'm sorry, mon cher, I should have been there for you. This is all my fault. I'm the one who should be looking out for you. I don't know what I was thinking…" His eyes blurred with tears and he looked back down at Matthew's trembling thighs. It hurt him seeing Matthew in pain like this. It hurt him even worse knowing that he could have prevented it if only he hadn't raced like a coward into the trees, not minding to check and see if Matthew was behind him.

_I will never let him get hurt again. _Francis promised himself.

Arthur eventually came up and put a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "That's enough for now, I think. He will need further exercises to put it back in place, but let him rest for the night."

Matthew moved his leg out of Alfred's grip, as if afraid the American wouldn't listen to Arthur and keep on going. He was embarrassed that he was crying in front of all the other nations; he was embarrassed, being the one who often hiked in the wilderness and knew every risk and precaution, that he was the one to be careless enough to be injured. "Thanks… is Sadiq still knocked out?"

"Yao is tending to him." Arthur replied. "His pulse has strengthened, and that's good, but he hasn't opened his eyes."

"What's wrong with him?" Feliciano inquired from his place sitting on the floor beside the couch that Sadiq was laying on, watching Yao administer to him. "Is he sick?"

"He has a fever," Yao confirmed, dabbing the Turk's forehead with a damp piece of cloth torn from the sleeve of his changshan. "His ankle… it is swollen."

"An infection," Gilbert said, sitting across the room, canteen in hand. Ludwig had been dubiously watching him as he gave instructions for Gilbert to drink water. "I've had one of those before in a wound. It was a bitch, but my awesomeness got me through it." Ludwig glared down at him and Gilbert shut up, taking another mouthful of water.

"We are no longer nations." Ivan said, staring at the wall. "We cannot recover from a wound as quickly as we once could. We are mere humans now, and humans die from this all of the time without proper medical treatment."

Feliciano's eyes filled with tears. "Then he is going to die?"

"Don't get yourself into a fit, fratello," Lovino said, though his voice was shaky at the thought of them being susceptible to anything and everything now. They were all like delicate eggs just waiting to be crushed. "He has a chance, so he could make it. God knows the bastard is determined as hell…"

They all sat around in a circle on the torn and sullied living room rug that night, too afraid to start a fire for who the smoke may attract. Alfred brought out the radio he'd snagged from the burning cabin and placed it in the center, twiddling the knob to find a working station. It took about five minutes, and all of them were tense throughout, but a voice finally faded into being.

"… thing is gone. All the monuments, all the national symbols, everything that identifies with what this lying, cheating country is, is now destroyed. Your leaders have been murdered. We saw fit to exterminate all those who brought about this crisis so that we may establish a new order."

Alfred was scowling, wishing he could blow the guy up just by glaring at the radio.

"This is the dawn of a new era of government, and we shall be the first to lead it. For all of those who have known us recently, we are Organization Coup, but seeing as the coup has been successfully carried out, we will now style ourselves as The Fellowship of Man. Even as I am speaking we are making a place for ourselves in the capital. We have driven out or executed all officials of the old regime and are rebuilding and reworking the government in a way that we consider the best for the people.

"Our former way of government was harmful and reckless to our society to the point that we could not function under it. Democracy is a dead art—no true freedom is derived from it, as you have all recently witnessed. It was only a mask for more devious activities. As so, we abolish democracy and denounce anyone who continues to uphold it. For all of those who wish to refuse our rule, you will be found and severely punished. Everyone must participate and so everyone must agree. This is the foundation of a perfect society."

"Lies," Alfred ground out. "All motherfucking lies…"

The anchor continued. "As you all know by now, the United States of America is no more. Most of you consider yourselves apart from the title of American, so we propose a change in name. We have decided that this new country of ours will be called Elysium, a celestial place for the fallen Greek heroes of old, and you, our loyal citizens, Elysians (1). And we shall not be considered separate within disjointed states. No, we will be one country, a whole. For were the states not a tool used by the former government to keep us apart and weak?"

"No," Alfred growled. Beside him, Wynston put a hand on his shoulder. "No, that's my fucking _name_. It can't be changed."

"But, sadly, our new country cannot be born if another still exists in its place. As so, we are asking everyone to look out for an Alfred F. Jones. He is the embodiment of the United States and all of its devastating lies. He has dark blond hair, wears glasses, stands at five feet, nine inches tall and is normally loud and stubborn. His picture will be posted around the country. There will be a gracious reward for anyone who brings him in—to the tune of five million dollars… well, that is, in the old monetary system. We shall be changing that soon, too.

"And for all of those who have suffered under this traitorous government and in this country as a whole, you will be pleased to know that if and when we have Mr. Jones, we will be sure to kill him slowly and painfully for all of the wrongs he caused you.

"As for other news—"

But they didn't get to hear about the other news, as at that moment, Alfred snatched the radio from off of the floor and hurled it against a wall. The force of his swing was so powerful it shattered into pieces upon impact. Arthur immediately shot to his feet.

"What the fucking hell if wrong with you, Alfred?!" he shouted. "That was our only link to what was going on in the world!"

But Alfred just looked somberly up at him. "What world, Artie? If there is one, I don't think we want to know it."

No one said a word after that, as they arranged their sleeping bags, too shocked about the news to talk to each other. Arthur was still fuming at Alfred, but he kept his silence, knowing that if he began an argument with the younger nation now, it would only end up wounding Alfred's pride more than it already had been.

Ivan and Ludwig fetched a mattress from an upstairs bedroom and laid it out on the floor. Yao and Alfred lifted Sadiq carefully from off of the couch and moved him onto the mattress, covering him with his sleeping bag. Matthew was then carried by Francis to the couch, his sleeping bag with him. As soon as Matthew was situated, his injured leg resting in a cramped position on a pillow between his knees, Francis kissed him on the brow and stroked his hair before laying out his own sleepingbag directly below the Canadian. Matthew's mind went back to Sadiq. Maybe if he hadn't tripped in the river, the Turk would still be awake. It was enough to keep him awake, staring at the ceiling for hours even after everyone else had fallen asleep. Then again, his knee partly helped with keeping him up.

Alfred was awake as well. Although he didn't like Wynston seeing him clamber into a sleeping bag with Ivan, he figured why not? It wasn't like it could get any worse for him. So he laid beside Ivan staring at his son, wondering how soon it would be until he was taken from him as well by this 'Fellowship of Man.' The thought roiled his stomach and brought tears to his eyes.

"You are tense," Ivan muttered after most everyone was asleep.

Alfred sighed. "I know,"

"You should not be."

Alfred was indignant. He turned over onto his side to glare at the Russian. "And why the fuck not?"

Ivan just smiled. "Because I am here." He kissed Alfred's forehead. "And I will not let anything happen to you."

Alfred blinked in surprise, feeling a faint fluttering in his stomach. Immediately, the words came to his mouth, the ones he'd been brooding over for nigh on a week and a half. "I know why you said I needed you."

Ivan ran his fingers down Alfred's bare shoulder. "You have finally come to an answer, then?"

"I need you because…" Alfred felt weird saying this, but all of his respect as a nation was gone in his opinion. Screw pride. It had all been stripped away from him. There was nothing for him to lose. He took a deep breath and said, "I need you because you know me at my worst and you know me at my best. You're my enemy, so you know everything about me."

"But Arthur knows everything about you also." Ivan said. "He raised you."

"Yes, but," Alfred licked his lips. His mouth was dry. "All that fighting we did made me realize… we have a lot in common. Our goals are the same. And something that Artie doesn't have is dedication to truly knowing someone and understanding them. With him, it takes time and effort… as can be explained with his rivalry with Francis and my revolution. But you," Alfred was shaky, and he knew Ivan could feel it, but he had never told Ivan this, had never told anyone this. "You were dedicated. You refused to be ignorant about the other side. You were determined to find out everything about me. I was just infiltrating your life because I wanted the information to win the war, but you… you did it partly because it interested you."

Ivan cocked his head. "And how did you come to that conclusion?"

Alfred swallowed. "I… uh… I knew my stuff was being taken and my letters intercepted. And the thing was, they had nothing to do with the war. They were private items and private letters… it pissed me off at the time, but I knew you must be doing it. Your government was concerned with my government at the time, not necessarily about me."

"Is true," Ivan reasoned with a smile. "You are getting warmer~"

Alfred blushed as he looked down. "Considering all of that, I-I guess I realized, but didn't really want to acknowledge that I… _liked _you. Sure, I was attracted sexually, but that was just from the war. But emotionally… I pushed those thoughts away. For a long time I hated them. I used to keep myself busy in order to keep it out of my mind, but now… there's nothing to keep those thoughts at bay."

"So, what is your answer, Alfred?" Ivan tipped up Alfred's chin so that they were looking at each other. "Do not be afraid. I will not judge."

Alfred hoped that the night hid his flushed face. Well, this was it. It wasn't like they had all the time in the world to coax the words out of each other, so he might as well say them. "I-I need you, Ivan, because I…" He took a deep breath and said, his voice but a whisper, "I love you,"

Ivan smiled warmly and said, "And I have loved you, Alfred, for longer than you know. I have been trying to make you realize that from the day I first met you."

Alfred felt like a wall of sorts had been broken down inside him, and with the shattering of it, came the rush of tears. "Well… you coulda been less of an asshole!" _At last_. was all he could think as Ivan embraced him.

_At last._

And on the other side of the room, still awake on the couch, Matthew smiled.

_It certainly took him long enough. Everyone knew it but him. What a hoser… _And with a content mind, he shut his eyes, and sleep seized him like the sweet waves of a stormy sea.

* * *

Translations:

D'accord-Okay

References:

1-Elysium was a celestial place constructed from the legends of Ancient Greece where those related to the gods or heroes reside in the afterlife. It was overseen by Hades. (And, no, I was not aware that there was an upcoming movie of the same name... ironically).

A Word From the Writer: Aw, so cute~! Just a little (kinda) quote from Erich Fromm. You know, _Immature love says: I love you because I need you. Mature love says: I need you because I love you._ Our America is maturing (about damn time, too)! If you want more feels, listen to "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri while reading it. So what if it's from Twilight (it was the only good thing that came out of it). It makes me cry, don't judge me! :'(


	40. Just One More Reason

**Look for symbolism in this chapter!  
**

Warning: Angst, revolting scenes.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Just One More Reason**

Kiku woke at the break of dawn. He crawled out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his katana, swinging it over his shoulder, deciding to explore more of the house.

He stopped by the kitchen first, opening the cabinets and not being surprised to find that most everything had been taken. As soon as he opened the fridge, a smell so foul hit him that he would have vomited if he hadn't closed it shortly after. The combination of rotting meat and putrid fruits and vegetables lingered in the air for a good while.

The good news: there was a gas stove, which Kiku considered incredibly lucky, seeing as most Americans had long since moved on to electric. The surface and the burners were a little charred from use, but when he turned it on, he could smell the gas, so it still worked.

Upstairs, the damage wasn't much different. There were two children's bedrooms and one master bedroom. The pictures around the house and the torn posters on the wall indicated that a family of five lived here: with two daughters who couldn't have been older than eight with their parents and an infant brother. The sight made him sad. He picked a stuffed rabbit from off of one of the daughter's beds, the material torn and the toy gutted, the stuffing bulging out through the slit. It looked as if the family had left in a hurry, not bothering to grab anything on the way out.

_We never had any warning either. _Kiku mused. _And we never knew it would be this bad._

Feeling somber, Kiku made his way back downstairs, going down a hallway to a door that led to the basement. He opened it and headed slowly down.

It was dark and damp, and looked to be empty. But halfway down the steps, a smell hit Kiku's nostrils, so strong and fetid that he scrambled to cover his nose and mouth with a cloth, but he could still smell the odor.

_Something must be dead down here_. Kiku thought as he made it to the bottom. _Perhaps a wild animal that had gotten in or the family dog. _He took a flashlight out of his pocket and clicked it on, only for him to drop it on the floor a moment later.

It came so fast that Kiku couldn't stop it; bile forced its way up from his stomach and soon he was throwing up, his throat burning, tears coming to his eyes from the shock. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, breathing hard, breathing in the stench of death and decay. He didn't bother retrieving the flashlight as he ran up the stairs and slammed the door shut behind him, hand going over his mouth, his heart pounding.

Yao and Arthur were groggily making their way toward him. Their eyes went wide when they saw him, rushing forward.

"What is wrong, Kiku?" Yao asked, concerned.

"You look as pale as a ghost." Arthur said, examining the door suspiciously. "What happened? Did you find something?"

Kiku swallowed, the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. His stomach was cramping and he felt like if threw up again, he would vomit his very insides. He looked up at both of them, shaking like mad. "The family who lived here," he said, his voice tremulous and raspy. "I do not think they ever left."

* * *

"This is so horrible." Francis said as they all stood gathered in the basement. The light of the flashlight was shaking as it shined on the rotting corpses of the family. Lovino handed it off to Ludwig.

"I can't… I can't look at it anymore, dammit." he said quietly.

Ludwig took it and directed it at the bodies, feeling terrible just standing there and staring.

"Ve~What is it, Lovi?" Feliciano called from upstairs. "Can I come down? It smells icky…"

"No," Arthur said. "No, stay up there, Feli." He then turned to Kiku, who looked shell shocked. "Who were they?"

"A family," Kiku replied with effort. "I do not know their names, but they were young. The two girls were around six and eight. And the baby…" He inhaled deeply and shook his head. "Who would do this?"

"I bet you this Organization did it." Alfred growled. "Bastards would do anything for power and killing off the opposition is one bloodthirsty way to do it."

Ivan stepped forward to examine the bodies. He used his scarf to cover his mouth and nose as he crouched down. They had been dead for a while, it seemed. Their skin was practically melting off their bones. Maggots were moving beneath the loose flesh, feasting. He stood and confirmed, "They were murdered. There are bullet wounds in them. Whoever came across this house took the family hostage and kept them in the basement. It looks like they starved them for a while before finally killing them. And the baby… he died long before the rest of his family was killed, yet the murderers thought it fit to give him a bullet as well."

"What has this world come to?" Wynston muttered somberly.

"Turn off that light." Matthew told Ludwig. The Canadian had insisted on being brought down here once he had heard the news, no matter what Francis said. He was determined to be an important player in this group, not to be forgotten like he had so many other times. "I can't look at them anymore."

Ludwig did so, all of them standing in the dark. The only source of light came from the cracked door up the stairs.

"What should we do with them?" Yao asked.

"I don't know," Arthur sighed. "If we bring them up, their stench will attract who knows what and linger for days. But I would feel like a monster if we didn't give them some sort of funeral."

"We will leave them down here." Ludwig said what everyone was thinking, but were too scared to announce. "Board up the door and carve a memento into it."

They didn't say a word as they made their way back up the stairs, Alfred helping Matthew along as he hopped along on one foot and Gilbert trying his best to console Lovino, who looked to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

When they reached the top, Feliciano darted forward to interrogate his brother, only to frown when he found that Lovino looked pale and sick. He gave Arthur a quizzical look. "Ve~What happened? What was down there?"

Arthur shook his head. "Some dead animal. It got in and now it's rotting. We've decided to board up the door so that it doesn't smell quite so bad." He felt guilty referring to the family massacred downstairs as a bothersome animal carcass, but he didn't want the Italian to end up like his brother.

Feliciano looked sad with the announcement. "Poor thing." And he was led by Wynston back into the living room with Lovino.

They used the their firewood (aka, the loose floorboards or other pieces of wood they could find around the house) to board up the door. Ludwig and Ivan found some nails in the garage and a hammer, and they watched as Ivan pounded them into the door.

When they were finished they took a step back.

"What should we say?" Francis asked.

Arthur looked at Kiku. "Kiku, are you sure you found no information on who these people might be?"

"One," Kiku replied. "There was a Christmas card that they sent out… they are the Anderson's."

"Right," Gilbert said, taking out a pocketknife and carving into the wood. "The An-der-son Fa-mil-y… there." He moved away so everyone could see.

_The Anderson Family_

_R.I.P._

"Well," Matthew sighed. "I guess there really is nothing else we can say about them."

"Yes, there is." Alfred said and snatched the knife from Gilbert's hand, proceeding to carve more words into the board. When he was finished he folded the blade and tossed it back to Gilbert, who easily caught it.

_We Will Change This World For You_

_A Promise_

"That's a hefty promise." Arthur said, giving Alfred a small smile. "But I will undertake it with you, whatever the cost."

"Da," Ivan agreed. "This is not just survival anymore. This is war."

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: This house is sinister in more ways than one, and this is just the beginning. It will quickly lose its title of 'safehouse' shortly, I can tell you that. And, no, I do not take joy in writing scenes like this one. It was just to emphasize the fact that humanity has slipped to a whole new low (yes, it can go lower than some people go today, and that's pretty damn low)(like, almost HELL low)(haha "hell-low, Devil, we just decided to visit you early!" hell-low)(I'm punny)(no, really, that's how low)(they're playing limbo with the Devil)(... okay, I'll stop now).


	41. Jagged Little Pill

**This chapter will be a bit hard to swallow.  
**

Warning: Angst, injury, reminiscing.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Jagged Little Pill **

By the afternoon, they had all been assigned duties, aside from the unresponsive Sadiq, and the injured Gilbert and Matthew.

"Dammit, bruder," Gilbert swore angrily. "Let me do _something_. The gloominess around here is killing my awesomeness!"

"You will stay here and rest." Ludwig ordered. His tone left no room for argument.

So it was that they all split into two groups: Alfred, Ivan, Francis, Yao, and Wynston (the state had insisted, even though Alfred said no) would explore the neighborhood and look for supplies, while the others (Arthur, Kiku, Lovino, Ludwig, and Feliciano) would remain at the house to prepare it for human habitation.

"Stay safe," Arthur said firmly to Alfred before he departed.

Alfred nodded. "Don't worry, Artie. I'm not finished yet."

But Arthur watched them go, still feeling anxious about the whole situation. The last time they had split up in a town, it had been unfortunate, one time ending in tragedy.

"You are worried," Kiku observed as Arthur joined him in the kitchen. The Japanese man was laying out some canned food from his pack onto the table.

Arthur stood with his back to him, turning on the gas stove. "You're never wrong, Kiku." He struck a match and lit a burner, the blue flames flaring into being. He flicked the match through the air to put it out before turning around and leaning against the wall, rubbing his face with his hand. "All I ever do now is worry. Sure, I try to do work to cover it up, but… it never leaves me."

"You are not the only one." Kiku said, handing Arthur a can of soup and a can opener.

Arthur took both in hand nodding as he studied them. "The price we had to pay for this," he lifted the can opener. "How many more will we have to pay, and for what other trivial purpose?"

"You should not brood on the negative." Kiku advised. "It is not healthy and it will not help our situation."

Arthur sighed. "You're right." He set the can on the counter and opened it. He poured the soup into a pot that he had retrieved from one of the cabinets, putting it onto the lit burner. "Forgive me. I forgot myself."

"There is no need." Kiku replied with a wan smile. "I have my own concerns as well."

"You hide them well, then." Arthur said, stirring the soup and watching the chopped vegetables swirl in the broth before being handed another can.

Kiku sighed. "It does not come without a price."

Arthur scoffed somberly. "Doesn't everything?" He opened the can and poured more in.

"Suppressing one's emotions takes time and experience." Kiku said. "But doing so places you at the edge of society. It separates you from your friends and family… but I chose it because I did not want my emotions to affect me while deciding on difficult things, such as war and politics. I slaved at it, and I achieved it, but it cost me those close to me. I never let anyone in. No one really knows me, though they might believe they do. All of those who knew me before… I am practically a stranger to them now. They drifted away from me, because they thought I did not care, which is partly true. But now…" He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Now I wish I would have been less blind to how my future would be without them."

The shock left in Arthur from Kiku's confession made him lose himself for a moment. He said, "You know, I thought all of this was because of what happened when I was a Captain." _What am I saying? _he thought, but his lips were already moving. There was no stopping the words spilling from them now. Kiku had shared something intimate with him and now he felt he had to share something of equal importance. "I remember the day as clear as anything. There was a storm. Vicious. Nothing I have ever seen before. The ship was bound to go down, I knew that. After the damage it had been done by Antonio's canons, I knew I had to make port. But I was greedy. I pursued a silver ship into the storm. Only when it disappeared did I realize what I had done.

"But I couldn't die. I knew that. My country depended on me. I realized how stupid I was thinking I could be a pirate and still expecting my nation to fare well. What would happen if I died? That was what I was thinking as we sunk." He swallowed hard. He was sweating. He had never revealed this to anyone before. "I took the last skiff out. It was horrible, seeing my mens' faces. And I knew as I watched her go under and all of the lives I was responsible for with her, that God would never forgive me. As soon as the Uprising happened, I knew it must be in payment for my greed and cowardice all those years ago." He looked at Kiku wonderingly. "But was it really cowardice? Was it really greed? Was it an awakening? If it wasn't for that storm, I might have been killed some other way and my people would have been left to suffer because of it. Well…" He paused to think. "I believe this is my second awakening. I will get through this, and when I do, I will be much stronger and wiser than ever before."

Kiku looked at him. "That sounds like a good belief."

Arthur stirred the soup. "Yeah, well… it's worth a go, isn't it?"

Ludwig walked in a sighed. "Sadiq's fever has gone up. His whole face and neck are red and I changed his bandages… his ankle… it looks bad."

"How bad?" Arthur asked, a spark of worry igniting in him. They couldn't lose another person. Not now.

Ludwig licked his lips. "_Very _bad. The skin around it is swollen and bright red. The wound is oozing pus. The infection has gotten worse."

"God," Arthur muttered. "We need to get some medication in him."

"How?" Ludwig asked. "He's still not responding and we might choke him if we force a pill down his throat."

"It's worth a shot." Arthur said. "There's some penicillin in my bag. Get one and some water. You know what," He dropped the spoon and wiped off his hands on his pants. "I'll help. Kiku, can you watch the soup for me?"

Kiku nodded and Ludwig led Arthur back into the living room and to the mattress on which Sadiq was lying, unconscious. Feliciano was by his side, dabbing a wet rag on his head. He had tears in his eyes.

"His pulse is weak." The Italian reported as they joined him. "He's so hot… I don't know how anyone could survive this."

"It's going to be fine, Feliciano," Ludwig assured, nudging him aside. The Italian sniffled and went over to sit by his brother, who was watching from the couch.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asked in alarm as Ludwig slipped the pill bottle out and Arthur set a glass half full of water on the floor beside him. "No," he said firmly. He wished he could do something, but he was bound to the chair unless someone helped him. "Don't do that. You might kill him!"

"What else do you want us to do?" Arthur snapped, his voice a little more venomous than he meant it to be. He glared at Matthew. "He's dying, and it's either try this or let him slowly starve to death. Do you want that, or do you want him to have a chance?"

Matthew swallowed and looked at the floor. Arthur turned back to Sadiq. "Tip up his chin, Ludwig… have you ever fed your dogs pills before?"

"Ja," Ludwig replied. "But that was different. They weren't unconscious."

"I know," Arthur said. He himself wasn't sure about this, but there was no other way other than to just resign themselves to know that Sadiq was going to slip away slowly. "Give me a pill."

Ludwig dropped the pill in his palm and Arthur took a deep breath. "I'm going to wait until he exhales, but I'll only have a few seconds. Try to hold his head still. He'll thrash."

Ludwig nodded and Arthur waited. When the time was right, Arthur jabbed his fingers into Sadiq's mouth, hoping to God that he wasn't going to kill this man, shoving the pill down Sadiq's throat. As expected, the man began to turn his head away in an effort to breathe. He began to cough.

Arthur snatched up the glass of water, hands trembling, putting it to his lips and pouring a bit down his throat. Sadiq swallowed some instinctually, but continued to cough, choking on some. The Turk began to thrash his limbs, and Ludwig struggled to hold them down. Panic flashed within Arthur, and his heart threw itself painfully against his ribs.

"No, no," Arthur chanted, batting Ludwig's fingers away to hold up Sadiq's chin himself. His other hand, stroked the man's throat, encouraging him to swallow. "No, I won't let you die on me, dammit. Swallow it! Breathe!"

And, as if the Turk had heard, Arthur felt his throat move beneath his fingers and the man coughed a few more times before his breathing returned to normal.

When it was through, Arthur leaned back, sweating profusely, blood roaring in his ears. He was panting and his limbs felt like jelly.

_Oh God. _he thought with horror. _I could have killed him._

Ludwig seemed to be thinking the same thing as he looked at him. "That was close."

"Yes," was all Arthur could say, too shaken to get out anything more.

In the corner of the room, sitting on his sleeping bag, Gilbert said, "As I said before, infections are some ugly bitches."

* * *

"Here's another one," Wynston said, nudging an abandoned bike with his foot.

"That's the third one we've found." Alfred replied with suspicion. "It's like everyone just left. Their houses look looted, but other than that, there's no sign that the owners packed up before they took off."

"Is true," Ivan agreed. He was investigating the inside of a truck through the windows. "And you would think that they would have taken their vehicles with them."

Francis shook his head, looking behind him, expecting to see someone sneaking up. "I don't like this feeling… something bad happened here. The people could not have just left all their belongings behind and fled. That family back at the house," He swallowed as he remembered. "They had young children. If they were sensible, they would have left long before they were caught."

"Shì," Yao muttered, fingers stroking over his wok. "Something is wrong. Those people we found in the other houses…" He shivered as he recalled their lifeless bodies, dispatched with a bullet or stabbed to death. "They could not have possibly murdered each other. They were all in a similar state of decay… someone got to them, someone cold, evil…"

"Christ," Wynston breathed, hunched over and prodding at something with his pocketknife. "Pa… I think ya might wanna see this."

Alfred walked over, foreboding twisting in his stomach. He looked over Wynston's shoulder and his mouth went dry.

"Prison jumpers," Alfred said, his voice barely a whisper. "Dammit, I didn't even consider…"

"That your many prisoners would escape and wreak havoc upon the towns?" Ivan finished for him and Alfred frowned. "Da, this is a problem."

Francis's eyes were wide. "We cannot stay here. Who knows where they went?"

"Francis is right," Yao said, walking over to examine the evidence. "How many of them are there?"

"Two jumpers…" Wynston reported. "Two too many."

"Jesus Christ," Alfred groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Everywhere we go is unsafe. We need to move."

"We should go back to the house." Francis said anxiously. "Now. Those prisoners might still be around and we cannot afford to be separated."

"Da," Ivan said, starting off back toward the house. "We can explore another time. Right now, we need to inform the others and fortify the house."

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Hahaha, uh oh. Whatever you do, _don't drop the soap._ It is their mating stance! O_O

Yes, and I am a fan of Alanis Morisette. In case anyone was wondering.


	42. Waking to a Nightmare

**Paranoia. It's a biotch!  
**

Warning: Angst, tension, threats, controversial topic.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Waking to a Nightmare**

Matthew jumped and nearly screamed when he heard a sharp knocking on the door. That couldn't possibly be them, could it? They had only been gone for about ten minutes…

Before he knew it, Gilbert was at the door, gun out and aimed. Arthur, Ludwig, and Kiku came in shortly after, all pointing their weapons at the door.

There was another fast rapping and a voice said, "Let us in."

"Ivan?" Arthur asked cautiously.

"Da," Ivan answered and the Briton opened the door.

"What the hell happened?" Gilbert asked, slipping his gun back into its holster at his side. "That was an awfully short trip for exploring the whole town."

"We found something that made us turn back." Alfred said as they all filed in.

"Then what the fuck was it?" Lovino asked, more frightened than demanding, coming over to stand with them all, Feliciano by his side.

"These," Wynston said, holding up a pair of orange jumpers. He dropped them on the floor and everyone stared at them, too shocked to say anything. "They're from Montana State. We found some more murdered people in some of the homes we looked into. The prisoners have been everythin' but passive."

"Mein Gott," Ludwig muttered.

"We can't stay here," Lovino said. "Those bastards will come for us and then we'll be the ones rotting in the basement."

Feliciano started to cry. "Why did you lie to me? That wasn't just an animal down there!"

"Be quiet, Lovino." Gilbert said. "You're making it worse."

Surprisingly, Lovino obeyed.

"But he is right," Francis said. "We have to move. This place is too dangerous…"

"Oh, and what?" Arthur flashed back. "Eke out a living in the woods like we've been doing for the past week and a half? We're all half dead, not to mention one of us might just _be _dead if we try to move him."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed, thought he was hesitant. "Mattie can't walk and Gilbert is still recovering from whatever happened yesterday… it would be too risky."

"You mean we are just going to fucking stay here and let them get us?" Lovino asked, his voice high with fear. "Do you even know where they fucking went?"

"Lovino," Gilbert warned.

"They may be out there waiting for us." Ivan said. "But we must stay here if ever we are to recover. We have only found two jumpsuits so far. We outnumber them six to one."

"What are we going to do, then?" Feliciano asked, his voice small and quivering. "We can't let them get Sadiq, we can't!"

"And we won't, Feli." Ludwig said.

"We need weapons," Alfred said. "And more ammo… Kiku," He turned to the man expectantly. "Did you spot any guns while you were exploring the house?"

Kiku shook his head. "No, Alfred-san."

Alfred frowned. "Well… is there an attic?"

"Hai, I think there is, but I have not checked there." He had been too afraid to explore other parts of the house after discovering the basement.

"Right," Alfred said, straightening. "Okay, guys, this is what we're gonna do. We'll split up, half of us searching the house for weapons and the other half fortifying the windows and doors. We'll stockpile whatever we find on the kitchen table and go through them to check if they're usable or not. There has to be some sort of gun here. These people live out in the middle of the woods in Wyoming. No one in their right mind would ever think of _not_ owning one out here."

* * *

Alfred, Arthur, Kiku, Yao, and Lovino set off to scouring the house for weapons, while the rest (Ivan, Ludwig, Gilbert, and Wynston) ripped up floorboards and gathered wooden debris from around to the house to board up the windows and doors.

"There has to be _something_," Alfred said as he rifled through another old bin. They were all spread around the cramped and stifling attic, balancing on the beams and hunching over the insulation.

"Maybe the damn criminals got them all." Lovino said with frustration, tearing through yet another gun-empty bin.

"They're _criminals_," Alfred said. "They couldn't have gotten everything."

Arthur sighed as he moved on to another bin. "We may have guns, but that also means our enemies have just as many if not more." He shook his head. "Why didn't you listen to me, Alfred? This wouldn't have been so dangerous if you had gotten rid of that damned second amendment…"

Alfred stopped what he was doing and sat still. Everyone could sense the tension building and ceased their searching to watch. The American looked at Arthur with hard blue eyes.

Alfred slipped out his handgun and showed it to Arthur, as if explaining it to someone who had never seen anything like it before. It made Arthur bristle. "You see this, Artie?" he asked. "This is my gun, and I've always had it with me, wherever I've gone. You know why?"

"Because you are an asshole and people might shoot you?" Yao inquired.

"No—well, all right, maybe," Alfred huffed. "But I also have this gun because I can defend myself. Just in case anyone decides they want to take my freedoms away, I have this. After my revolution, I took precautions. Sure, I may seem 'gun-happy' to you, but no one really knows what that means except for Americans. I'll tell you: if my government goes down the shitter, which it most certainly has, what am I gonna do to try and bring it down? To try and make sure it can't control me? Well, hell, that would be kinda hard to do with a knife, seeing as I would be standing against the whole military arsenal. You see, Artie, this gun isn't just for defense, it's for upholding my rights, and if anyone tries to take those away from me, I know that I'll be able to face them with a weapon just as deadly as theirs. And that, Igs, is why we have guns here."

Arthur blinked, not knowing what to say. Feeling defeated, he returned to searching, his eyes downcast. Beside him, Alfred was still fuming, now moving aside the items in the bins more roughly than before.

"Alfred-san!" Kiku called from a far corner of the attic. He held up a long, shadowed object. "I found one."

Alfred stood, his anger long forgotten as he walked over and took the gun into his hands. "Whoa," he said. "This is a shotgun… in mint condition, too. I don't think it's ever been used…"

"Is there ammo in there?" Arthur asked.

"Hai," He scooped a couple of small boxes out of the bin, showing them to Alfred.

"Great! Some shots and slugs… how many more are in there?"

"About half of the bin, Alfred-san."

"Holy fuck," Alfred muttered, a smile on his face. "This is great!"

"They have hollow points as well." Lovino said, looking into the bin. "Damn, that's some heavy shit…"

"No, it's awesome." Alfred said. "450 million rounds of these were stockpiled by the government. Shoulda guessed why when I compared it to my 300 million citizens. They're gonna use those to kill us off, but now we can pay them back in full."

* * *

Ludwig ripped up another floorboard, the wood creaking and snapping in protest as he yanked it from the floor. His muscles strained, aching from being on the run, and sweat rolled down his face and chest.

He gave a triumphant grunt as the board gave up and allowed itself to be wrenched from the floor. Ludwig took a moment to catch his breath before throwing it over his shoulder and walking to where Ivan was gently hammering a nail into one of the boards on the door. Ludwig thanked God again that they found a hammer and some suitable nails stowed away in the family's garage.

Ivan looked at him as he approached, pausing in his work. "There is a small window in this door… I was thinking of punching out the glass and using it as a sort of gun slot."

"Ja," Ludwig said, setting down the board. "That sounds good."

Ivan nodded, and set down his hammer. He drew back his coat and took out his pickaxe, jabbing it through the glass. It shattered with a scream, shards spilling to the floor. Ludwig watched as Ivan hid the pickaxe in his voluminous coat, never feeling more glad that he wasn't on the Russian's bad side… or at least he thought he wasn't.

Ivan had picked up the hammer again and placed a few nails between his teeth, getting back to work with a knowing smile on his face.

He just loved how frightened people looked because of him.

Gilbert came huffing in, dropping a few boards at Ivan's feet. Ludwig gave him an incredulous look.

"East, I thought I told you to take care of Sadiq."

Gilbert groaned. "But that is so _unawesome_! Why waste my time with someone who won't even acknowledge my awesomeness? It's so boring!"

"Don't make me break your legs!"

Gilbert began to laugh. "Kesese, you wouldn't—!" But when he saw the serious look in Ludwig's eyes, he said, "A-all right, bruder, jeez. But I get restless when I'm not doing anything and everyone else is…"

"Go help Uncle Matt with his leg." Wynston said, dropping some more boards on the pile. "He says it's crampin' up again. Movin' it once every hour might work the joint back inta place."

"There is your job, Gilbert." Ivan said through his teeth that were holding the nails. "Do not complain, or I will give you something worth complaining about, da?"

Gilbert gladly disappeared back into the living room. All that could be heard was the tap of the hammer and the groaning of floorboards as they were worked from the floor, before Gilbert's voice reached them, "Oh mein Gott, mein Gott,"

Ludwig immediately set down the wood. He knew that tone of Gilbert's voice—complete shock. He rushed into the living room and his eyes went wide.

"Hey, everyone!" he called. "I think you need to come and see this."

It wasn't long before all of them were gathered around Sadiq's mattress, watching the Turk as he groaned and tossed his head before cracking open his eyes.

"W-what…?"

Feliciano's lower lip quivered and he burst into tears.

Lovino pulled his brother to him. "Damn crybaby," But he was extremely relieved as well.

"Mattie," Sadiq muttered, coughing a bit. "Where is he…? My ankle…"

"I'm here, Sadiq," Matthew said, fighting grateful tears down. He looked down at him and smiled from his place being supported by Alfred.

Sadiq tried to move his injured ankle, but he grimaced and suck in air through his teeth. "Ah, hurts…"

Arthur gave a great sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God." So he hadn't killed him.

Yao knelt down and dabbed Sadiq's head with a damp cloth, saying, "Be still. Your ankle is infected. You need to rest."

Sadiq blinked groggily at him. "Then… give me some fucking drugs already."

Ludwig gave him another dose of penicillin. "Here. Drink slowly."

Sadiq's hands shook as he took the pill and the water. After he swallowed the pill, he drank greedily until all the water was gone. He handed the glass back to Ludwig and licked his lips.

"My mouth is so dry… how long was I knocked out?"

"Since last night." Alfred replied. "About a day,"

"Damn, I'm hungry."

"I have some soup on. Shall we eat now?" Arthur didn't wait for an answer as he departed for the kitchen.

They all didn't know how hungry they had been until they started eating. Most of them hadn't had any food for a few days, and Arthur was prompted to put more soup on. Sadiq ate his meal voraciously.

"Not too fast, Sadiq," Matthew warned, though he was eating just as equally fast. "You're still recovering. You wouldn't want an upset stomach to go along with that, too."

Sadiq grunted but ignored him.

Kiku, meanwhile, was very grateful for the food. He had been throwing up so much lately that he'd barely had anything to go on, despite him hiding it from the others.

As the meal came to a close, Wynston volunteered to clean up and headed off to the kitchen. Arthur then felt safe to question Alfred about his condition.

"Are you doing all right?"

Alfred blinked in surprise. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, there was that little stunt of yours with the fire… then you got punched in the stomach pretty bad by the Bloodhound guy…"

Alfred scoffed. "Yeah, whatever. That shit tickled compared to…" His eyes went downcast and his hand once again went to his arm. Arthur frowned. He had caught Alfred making the same movement throughout the day at random moments, but he seemed relieved afterward.

"It's your scar, right?" Arthur said.

Alfred looked shocked. "How did you…?"

"Unlike you, I'm perceptive." Arthur explained. "I managed to deduce that when you lose one of your states, its similar to losing one of your leaders. You get a scar."

Alfred was silent for a moment, the laughed in a somber sort of way that concerned Arthur. "Yeah, well, I just hope that Florida doesn't kick the bucket any time soon…"

"And why is that?" Ivan asked. He knew the answer if all the rumors held true.

Alfred blushed and scratched the back of his head. "Let's just say he occupies a very… _vital _area."

They all burst out laughing, even though the joke was morbid. But it was release from stress, hunger, and tension that they all needed desperately.

Then it became just as serious again.

Alfred had been brooding over the past day and a half, and he needed some answers. "Artie, when those two men took you into the back of the bunker…"

Arthur could see where this was going. All eyes were pinned on him. The Briton shook his head. "No, they didn't hurt me. In fact, I'd say I hurt them more than they ever intended to hurt me."

Francis raised and eyebrow. "And what is that supposed to mean, cher?"

"It means I killed them." Arthur said nonchalantly, though inside he felt sick. Being a country, he had been responsible for millions of deaths, but doing it with his own two hands… that was a different story.

"And then you escaped outside." Ivan said, breaking the palpable shock in the room.

"Yes," Arthur was now very aware that they were all staring at him in disbelief. "It had to be done. There was no other way." And even though he felt sick, Arthur also felt… _satisfied_ about what he had done. Those men deserved it. They were going to rape him. Hell, if anything, he should have found a more violent way to kill them. Anyway, doing it had saved everyone. His guilt lessened with that thought.

Yao cleared his throat. "We should get some sleep."

"Right," Alfred said. "I'll keep watch."

Arthur stood. "Alfred, I don't think you should be getting less sl—"

"I'll get some sleep, don't worry." Alfred replied.

Arthur was skeptical; Alfred, he'd noticed, had become so paranoid lately that he was alert constantly. If anything, the American would surely be up all night.

Arthur leaned over to Kiku and whispered, "Make sure he goes to sleep, okay?"

Kiku nodded and everyone settled down to sleep.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Oooh, I praised guns. I'm bad. Really baaad. Whatever. But I'm not kidding about those 450 million rounds of hollowpoints that the government is stockpiling. That's one or two bullets for every American citizen. I'm not crying wolf or anything, but with all the scumbags dominating the upper branches I wouldn't put it past them to start anything. You know, _after_ they fuck every woman who works for them. That first.

Annnnnywho, chaos begins next chapter. :D


	43. Gathering Storm

**Look out, y'all. Here comes the crazy.  
**

Warning: A scary scene, fight scene, weapons, threats, poking fun at France, angst (and ignore the fact that I only wrote Scotland with an accent. I was too lazy to do Northern Ireland and Wales, meh. That and I've already written Scotland with an accent earlier in this fic and gotta keep him the same).

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Gathering Storm**

_Arthur stood in complete blackness, squinting around for some sort of light. "Hello? Hello!"_

_ "Arthur," _

_ The Briton blinked and turned around. "Oh… oh my God." Tears flooded his eyes. He had never been happier to see them in his entire life despite all the resentment held between them. "Ian, Bryce, Lennox…"_

_ "It's good ta see ya, Artie." Lennox said, smiling as he held out his arms. "C'mere, little brother."_

_ Arthur ran to them and hugged them all. "I…. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I couldn't save you, I—" He broke off into sobs._

_ "It's all righ'," Ian said. His hair was just as red as when he was alive. A few more tears slipped down Arthur's face._

_ "We're okay," Bryce assured, patting Arthur's shoulder. "Really."_

_ "We miss ya." Lennox murmured, ruffling Arthur's hair—a gesture that used to annoy the hell out of Arthur, but now comforted him greatly. "Yer doin' a good job, keepin' yer head."_

_ "Th-thank you," Arthur sniffed and hugged Lennox around the middle. Oh God. He smelled like cigarettes. Just like those horrid cigarettes that he used to smoke. Arthur sobbed a little._

_ "Bu'," Lennox said, his voice dropping an octave. Arthur sniffed again, but opened his eyes when he felt liquid trickle onto his sleeve. Some dropped onto his nose. It was red._

_ Arthur let go of Lennox and backed away. "No,"_

_ All three of them were covered in blood, dripping down their bodies and pooling on the black, ethreal floor. Arthur stared in horror._

_ "It wasn't enough," Bryce said, glaring. _

_ "You've never been good enough." Ian growled. "You failed."_

_ "Ya killed us, Arthur." Lennox spat. His gaze was malicious as blood covered his face. Just like when Arthur had saw him shot. "And before long, you'll lose everyone ya love."_

_ "No," Arthur shook his head and backed away. The blood from them was pooling rapidly, spreading to his shoes._

_ "Yes," Ian said. "An' it's all your fault. All of it."_

_ "You will never be able to save anyone." Bryce added spitefully._

_ "You're a failure, Artie," Lennox snarled. "They'll all bleed before the end—because of you."_

_ "N-no," Arthur felt warm liquid run over his hands and he looked down at them. They were covered in blood. "No!" He tried to step back from the blood pooling at his feet and slipped, going down on his back. He went to get up, but the blood clung to him, little red hands trailing up his arms, his shoulders, his face, until he was covered in it. Covered in the blood that he'd spilled from his failures._

_ "I won't! I won't!" Arthur shouted, writhing. "I won't let them die!" And then he was swallowed up by the blood, slipping down into the floor, falling through blackness, through nothing…_

_ "Pay!" came a booming voice that seemed to claw at his very skull. Arthur yelped and covered his ears. "Pay for your sins! Pay in the blood of those you love!"_

_ And then a fiery maw opened below him, fangs dripping blood, black forked tongue darting out to meet him. Arthur screamed as he fell into the open jaws._

_ "Die in a pool of your sins!"_

_ "NO!"_

"Artie! Artie!" Alfred shouted, shaking Arthur awake. "Arthur!"

Arthur's eyes snapped open, the pupils dialated. He blinked up at Alfred, who was staring worriedly down at him. "A-Alfred?"

"Artie," Alfred muttered, looking around. Good, everyone was still asleep. "What the fuck was that?"

Arthur shook his head, trying to get his breathing and rapidly-beating heart under control. "I… it was a nightmare. Just a nightmare…" _A horrible, bloody nightmare… _He was still shaking and was soaked with sweat.

"Christ," Alfred said with relief. "By the way you were thrashing, I thought you were seizing or something…"

"Oh God," Arthur wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. He could care less about the filth on his clothing. "That was quite an intense one."

"I could tell." Alfred said. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine." Arthur replied, though he wasn't convinced himself. The nightmare had shaken him to his core. "How much sleep have you had?"

Alfred sighed. "Well, Kik just relieved me, though he said he had to take a piss so he'll be back. I was just settling down when you started talking in your sleep."

Arthur stiffened. "What did I say?"

"'Lennox'," Alfred said. "'Ian', 'Bryce'… your brothers. Then 'no' and 'I won't.'" He paused, thinking, then asked, "What were you dreaming about, Artie?"

Arthur shook his head and rolled over, though he wanted nothing more than to take Alfred in his arms and hold him. "My brothers… it's nothing. A nightmare. About their deaths. That's all."

Alfred scoffed. "'That's all'? Such a liar. If I dreamed about you or Mattie dying, I wouldn't say it was just nothing."

Arthur glanced back at him. "Alfred, that's not what I meant. I'm just… I'm tired, and I'm stressed, and… it hurts to think about."

Alfred felt like an ass. "Artie, I—"

"It's okay, Alfred." Arthur muttered and turned over. "I just want to sleep."

Alfred sat there for a moment, guilt clenching his stomach. He didn't know what else to say, so he rubbed Arthur's shoulder and crawled back over to Ivan's sleeping bag. He wished he could move it so that he could be closer to Arthur. It was very rare that the Briton was ever this shaken.

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to expel his nightmare from his mind. But the reality was too stark, the possibilities too real—

The Uprising wasn't even halfway over. And many more would die before the end.

But Arthur refused to let the blood spill for his faults.

* * *

Francis lay there, staring at Arthur's back, wondering if the Briton was all right.

Last night, he had heard Arthur kicking and mumbling in his sleep—crying. But he had decided to feign sleep so as to not wound Arthur's pride.

He wanted to crawl over to Arthur, to slip into his sleeping bag with him, and hold him, tell him it was okay, that they were going to make it.

But he didn't know if everyone was going to make it.

His eyes floated over to Feliciano, sleeping peacefully by his brother, his face content and innocent. Would he be next? Or his brother, Lovino? Or maybe his own little Matthew?

It could be anyone.

The fact that none of them knew when or if they were going was getting to Francis. Ever since he and Arthur had made a connection, ever since Matthew had injured himself… the paranoia was wreaking havoc on his mind every hour of every day. He didn't think he could stand to see Arthur or Matthew die, or anyone else for that matter. But if it were Arthur or Matthew, he would break down, and there would be nothing that would help him.

And Arthur. Francis loved him dearly. _Why couldn't he have seen that earlier? _They could have had so much time together before the Uprising. And now he feared that he would end up like poor Lovino—his lover shot dead right after they had gotten together. It was a scary thought.

_I love you so much, Arthur_. Francis mused as he studied Arthur's side, rising and falling with each soft breath. _When will you realize that?_

He decided to get up. Laying and brooding over death was depressing him.

Francis got up and stepped over his sleeping comrades, deciding that some fresh air would do him good. He went to the back door (seeing as the front was boarded up) and unlocked it. He walked down the stairs outside and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a crinkled pack of cigarettes. There was only one left.

"Might as well smoke it." he muttered and slipped a lighter out of his pocket.

He lit up and took a pull, feeling himself relax already. He blew out through his nose and coughed a bit.

Okay. Too early in the morning for that.

He stiffened when he heard movement around the side of the house. He dropped his cigarette regretfully and snuffed it out in the dirt with his shoe. He went for the gun at his side, when he realized that he had left it back in the house.

Then Kiku rushed at him from around the corner, katana out and ready. He arrived in front of Francis, panting.

"Get back inside." Kiku said firmly, but Francis didn't move.

"I said get back inside!"

"Non," Francis muttered, slipping out a pocketknife. Thank God he still had the sense to have that on him. "I'm not leaving you. What's wrong?"

"Them," Kiku said, pointing at the group of five convicts who were now surrounding them. They were all well armed; shotguns, pistols, knives. One man even had an axe.

"They ambushed me." Kiku explained, cursing himself. This had been the second time on his watch that he had been caught off guard. Well, this time he had enough time to run before they could catch him. He was hoping to lead them into the woods behind the house and lose them, but Francis had spoiled his plan by showing up inconveniently.

"That's okay, ami." Francis said. "Now they have two to deal with."

"Hai," Kiku, though, didn't exactly feel safe with Francis as his partner. Considering his history in battle…

Still, he was better than nothing.

"What are you hiding in that house?" one convict asked, gun aimed at Kiku. "You have the front door all boarded up. You must have something valuable."

"Nothing," Kiku replied coolly. "Just us. We were looking for a safehouse."

Another convict laughed. "Yeah, well, some safehouse that was. The previous owners thought that too, but look where that got them. Did you see them?"

"Heartless bastards," Francis growled, brandishing his knife, though he felt foolish doing so in front of all of the better weapons aimed dangerously at him.

The convict with the axe shrugged. "When shit hits the fan, it's survival of the fittest. We just thought to put 'em out of their misery."

Kiku needed to wake the others. He knew he was drastically outmatched with just his katana and Francis. Thinking fast, he reached inconspicuously into his pocket. One of the men noticed just as he threw the shuriken, launching it across the space between them with deadly accuracy. But the man who noticed was prepared. He aimed his gun and shot twice. He hit the whirling blade on the second shot, and the echoing of the gunshot and the bullet hitting the metal reverberated throughout the area.

The man with the shotgun scowled when he realized what Kiku had done. "Kill them."

Bullets flew and Kiku had no problem deflecting them… but Francis had only a little blade. All the Frenchman could do was dodge, and he would not last long. Francis yelped as a bullet whizzed by his head, so close that it took some of his hair.

"Get behind me!" Kiku yelled, but just as he did, a bullet tore through the screen door and implanted itself in one of the convict's foreheads. They all stopped for a moment to watch him stagger and fall, bleeding, to the ground.

Ludwig threw open the door, handgun aimed, followed by Alfred, Arthur, Ivan, and Yao. Now the criminals were outnumbered.

Alfred scoffed as he cocked his shotgun. "Shoulda known."

But the convicts weren't fazed by the new arrivals. They were obviously experienced in this kind of situation, as they came at the nations like swooping hawks to prey. Ivan broke the jaw of one inmate with his pipe, while Yao finished him off with a blow to the back of the head, courtesy of his wok. They were all so distracted with defense, that none of them saw one of the convicts had snuck up behind them.

A convict rushed Francis, but the Frenchman dodged his axe by inches, ducking to plunge his pocketknife into his gut. The man stared at him in shock as he coughed up blood and fell to the ground. Reveling in his victory (which didn't come often enough with him), Francis didn't hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

The man grabbed him by his hair and tugged. Francis's head snapped backward, and he shouted only for the barrel of a gun to be pressed to his head. The fighting slowed to a halt.

"We came here to take what we need." the convict holding Francis hostage growled. "But it's obvious that you're not gonna come easy. So, we'll just take something for ransom." He tugged on Francis's hair again, and the Frenchman grunted. "Now, unless you want this pussy to die, I suggest you lower your weapons."

Reluctantly, they did.

The other remaining convict joined his comrade. "Great work, Jamal."

Jamal scoffed. "Simple tactics. I learned them in the Marines."

"What do you want for him?" Alfred asked. He didn't negotiate with terrorists (that was his policy), but Francis was kind of more important than the average human hostage. "Food? Weapons? Ammo? What?"

Jamal laughed. "Nah, none of those. We got plenty of them. But you see, this is _our _territory. Home to the Wolf Pack. And you know what wolves do to trespassers, right?" He slid a thumb across Francis's neck in a slicing motion. "Dead. Meat. I'll tell you now that we work with the Organization, but we ain't part of it. Nah, we just _profit _from it. You see, if we turn in potential rebels to them, we get all the stuff that we need. That being said, we hunt. And the rest of you had better be wary, 'cause you're next on our list. We'll take this one for now, but tomorrow, we're returning triple the force. We're gonna take you down and turn you in. Sound good?"

"And what makes you think we'll come quietly?" Arthur spat, furious.

Jamal pressed the gun harder into Francis's temple. "If you want him to live, you'll be just peachy for us."

Francis thought he saw a flicker of fear pass behind Arthur's eyes, but it was only for a moment. The nations were quiet. They didn't know what to say.

Francis felt his heart pounding. They were going to take him away. These thugs. And the others couldn't help him.

Jamal began to walk backwards to the woods, the other convict pointing his gun at Francis as well. "Well, I guess we'll see ya around."

A minute later, the convicts had disappeared into the woods and Francis with them.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Oh noes! France has been taken captive! (Now, where have I seen that before, hmmm? XD) No, seriously. Shit's about to go down. Way, way down. Down to hell. You'll find out what I'm talking about as you go along, in the mean time just pay attention to the details!

And I know most of you probably just skipped over my commentary because you wanted to see what happened to France. Well cool your tits, bros, the next chappie's not going anywhere, got it?


	44. Take

**Read the warning. Seriously, guys, I don't wanna be flamed if you forgo it and take a trip unknowingly into twisted town.  
**

Warning: Angst, threats, tension, insults surrounding France and the French, various innuendos, references to necrophilia, and rape. I think you know where I'm going with this.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Take**

Matthew was crying and he couldn't stop. Alfred was hugging him and murmuring that it would be all right. But the Canadian knew it wouldn't.

His papa was gone.

"Shh, Mattie," Alfred said softly. "It's okay…"

Matthew shoved his brother away from him. "No, it's not!" he shouted, half sobbing. "How can you say that when Francis is being held hostage?"

Alfred blinked at him and sighed. "Mattie… I know it's bad, but crying over it is not going to solve anything."

Matthew was so distraught at losing Francis and so angry at Alfred for not understanding his fear, that he didn't bother to check his words before they flew out of his mouth. "Who are you to criticize me over crying when you did the same when Marge died?!"

Alfred's eyes went round and a little wet before Matthew realized what he'd said. "Al… Al, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"No," Alfred muttered. "I know what you mean. I shouldn't have said that." He picked at a loose fiber on the cushion of the couch they were both sitting on.

Matthew wanted to say more, but Gilbert asked, "What are we going to do about this?"

"Wait here, dumbass," Lovino replied. "Didn't you hear that fucker say if we try anything they'll kill the wine bastard?"

Matthew glared. "I bet you would be pissed too if we called Antonio a bastard."

Lovino gave him an equally powerful glare but muttered, "Only I can call the stupid tomato a bastard…" His eyes glazed over and he was quiet.

"We can't let Francis die." Feliciano said, tearing up. "We'll be sad. And I don't like being sad…"

"We're not going to let them kill him, Feli." Ludwig assured, but the Italian sniffled.

"We need to do _something_." Yao urged.

"Hai," Kiku agreed. He felt extremely guilty for this. Maybe if he hadn't led the convicts to the back of the house… "They are still criminals. They cannot be trusted no matter what they say. Francis may be dead whether we follow their instructions or not."

Ivan looked over at Arthur, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall. "Arthur, you have been quiet. What is your say in all of this?"

Arthur blinked as if emerging from a reverie. "Eh? Oh, yes, the frog… we should plan on saving him, even though he is annoying."

"And how do we do that?" Sadiq asked. "I can't move yet and neither can Matthew. Gilbert is still too weak to fight—"

"I can fight!" Gilbert protested, but Ludwig hissed at him to shut up.

"And we also don't have Francis. Counting out the two Italies, that leaves us with seven able-bodied men. And who knows how many more convicts are hiding out?"

"Where _are _they hidin'?" Wynston asked. "Can't be no rinky-dink little shack. It has ta be a big place where they can house prisoners an' weapons… a fortress, like."

"We'll have to scout." Alfred said, standing up from the couch. He checked over his ammo and looked at everyone else. "I'm loaded. Who's coming with?"

"You know I am." Ivan said, slipping his pipe out of his coat.

Everyone flinched at the sight of it.

"I can't let you get into trouble." Arthur said. "I'll be coming as well."

"I'll stay here to guard the place." Ludwig said. "But I need a partner."

"I will join you." Yao volunteered, then flashed a stern glance in Kiku's direction. "Stay safe and give them hell."

Kiku nodded, knowing Yao knew full well Kiku's responsibility over the whole situation. "Of course, aniki."

Yao blinked in shock, but before he could say anything, Kiku turned around and led the group toward the back door. The screen was sheared in two by Ludwig's bullet. They were just about to file out, when Matthew yelled, "Al!"

Alfred turned around to see Matthew stretching his arms out to him. "Al,"

Alfred smiled softly and went over to him, embracing him again. Matthew's voice was raspy with tears. "I don't want to lose you, Alfred. Kill those bastards and bring Francis back, okay? I don't want to see you in pieces." He cried a little at the thought of it.

"Don't worry, Mattie." Alfred soothed, ruffling his brother's hair. It was always so soft, no matter if it was dirty or not. The feel of it comforted him, reminded him of when they slept together as children (mostly because of Alfred's nightmares, but Matthew liked the company no matter how much he complained about Alfred squirming and talking in his sleep). "I'll bring back Francis. That's a promise."

Matthew sniffed and looked up at him. Oh God, how he wished he could go as well. He would feel so much better if he could keep Alfred in sight. "Can you promise me that you won't die?"

"No," Alfred said. "But I'll fight like all hell to make sure I don't."

Matthew laughed a bit and wiped at his eyes. "You're such an idiot when you're dramatic."

"Whatever makes you feel better, bro." He kissed Matthew's brow and walked back over to join the group.

No one spoke as he headed outside.

"It's about to rain." Kiku observed, peering up at the slate-gray sky. A dark mass of thunderheads was rolling in from the south.

"That doesn't look good." Arthur muttered. "If I were still a captain, I would say it was time for us to make port."

"Well, we don't have time for that." Alfred said, cocking his shotgun. "We've been hanging around here for too long. We should have known we'd run into trouble. Every goddamn town, man…"

"Dad?" Wynston stepped outside. "I wanna come, too."

"No, son." Alfred said sternly. "Back inside. I don't want you anywhere near those men. We should never have come here."

"But, Dad, I—"

_"No," _And that was all it took to send Wynston back inside, the state slamming the frame of the screen door behind him along with the solid wooden door behind it. They waited until they heard the lock click.

"I hope the frog is as resilient as he was fighting me." Arthur muttered.

"There is no time for hoping." Ivan stated. "Let us be off."

* * *

Francis yelped as his hair was pulled again, shivering as his clothes were soaked through and through with the pouring rain.

"Pick up the slack." the other convict Francis had come to hatefully know as Pete said, giving him a harsh shove. Francis stumbled and grunted as he just barely caught himself, shoes slipping in the gathering puddles.

They had been walking through town for hours, going seemingly nowhere, all the while with the rain pounding down on their backs. But the two convicts didn't seem to mind; actually, they appeared to enjoy pushing Francis around. Already, the Frenchman had fallen twice into the mud or asphalt and they had laughed, yanking him up again and shoving him forward.

"So, you're French?" Jamal had asked him, smiling wickedly. "Didn't even need to ask with that faggish hair and chicken-shit behavior. They grow 'em pussies over there." And he had spat a big glob of phlegm right on Francis's shoe.

Pete had guffawed and Francis had fumed. If it wasn't for the two men's guns he would show them just how much of a 'pussy' he was.

People really underestimated him at times.

And finally, when Francis had gotten a chill, they reached a school. It was small, but outdated; the bricks were faded with age and some of the shingles had chipped off.

They pushed him forward and he nearly ran smack into the glass front doors.

"In," Pete ordered simply, and Francis fumbled with the lock in his wet hands before pulling the door open and stepping inside.

At least he was out of the rain. But that was all Francis found good about this situation. Pete and Jamal entered behind him.

Francis stiffened as footsteps echoed off the walls and a man appeared around the corner. He smiled at them—with teeth as brown and chipped as any Francis had ever seen in the modern age of hygiene. "Back so soon, eh? Any loot…?" He quieted as he spotted Francis, standing cold and dripping before him.

His smile turned sinister. "Oh, another slut?"

Pete laughed and patted Francis roughly on the back. "Ha! No, just a French fag. But he'll work just as well."

"French, eh?" The man narrowed his eyes. "I don't like them Frenchies. Pretentious as hell."

"You don't hafta like 'im." Pete said. "Just his ass."

The man's eyes flashed. "Even better,"

Francis stiffened and Jamal huffed. "Just be careful with this one, Harley. You tore that woman up. And I'm not looking forward to being without a fuck."

Harley snorted. "It wasn't just me. Sure, I ride 'em often, but your big dick was the sole contributor."

Jamal chuckled. "Yeah, well, now she's loose. And since all the other broads have scattered, fag ass will hafta do." He tugged at Francis's hair again and made the Frenchman look at him. "You clean, pussy boy?"

Francis glared. "No," He was lying, of course. He always took good care of himself. But these men didn't need to know that.

Jamal smiled wickedly. "Liar. I know one when I see one. Twenty years a drug dealin' does that to ya. Now tell me," He pulled so that Francis was crying out in pain, feeling some of his hair rip out by the roots. "Are you clean?"

"N-no, I am not." Francis said defiantly, and Jamal frowned. He growled as he let go of Francis's hair, pushing him onto the floor. Francis slipped and fell, barely catching himself. His chin bounced off the linoleum.

Francis rolled onto his side, and Jamal's shoe pressed into his neck. He glowered down at him. "Enough a your lies. Tell me the truth or I'll kill ya."

Francis grunted at the feel of Jamal's grit-covered shoe applying pressure to his windpipe and looked him directly in the eyes. "I. Said. No." he enunciated.

Jamal's shoe was beginning to cut off Francis's airway. "Don't think I'll uphold my promise to your pals just 'cause I said so. They're all huddled up in that 'safehouse' a yours. Just waiting to be seized and sent to the Organization. And if they're ballsy enough to come and getcha, well," He laughed. "All they'll find is your corpse. So… your answer, faggot?"

Francis was scared out of his mind, but he did not let that show. "I already gave it."

This time, Jamal didn't say a word. He just pressed his shoe down on Francis's throat, on his Adam's apple. Francis gasped, cold overcoming his limbs, his head throbbing with lack of air, and his throat pulsing frantically, as if his heart knew its work would soon be over and was determined to deal out a lifetime's worth of beats in a few moments. Francis's vision flickered, and he wanted it to be over. The running, the worrying, the hurt. It was all going to be gone. He could already feel the pain lessening…

And then he remembered Matthew. He remembered Lovino, and Feliciano, and Kiku, and Alfred. And he remembered Arthur.

He couldn't leave them.

So, gathering up whatever breath was left in his lungs, Francis gasped, "Y-yes,"

Jamal stopped, his shoe letting up a little. "What was that, pussy boy? Had enough?"

Francis glared up at him as much as his dizziness allowed and took a deep, sweet breath. "Yes… I am clean." And humiliation flooded him along with dread.

Defeated. Again. He was so useless. How could he ever have thought he could be anything more?

Jamal and Pete helped him stand, and Francis felt all the blood rush down from his head. He swayed, feeling faint, but the convicts caught him.

"Ready for some cock, pussy boy?" Pete muttered. "But I bet you French like that."

They handcuffed him and took him deeper into the school. The rest of the group—five other men—were all gathered in the cafeteria. They all looked up as they entered.

"Look at what we found!" Harley shouted in excitement, pulling Francis's head up by his hair so the others could see his face. "Another piece of ass!"

Some of the men cheered, but the others groaned. One, who was sharpening a knife, grumbled, "A fag? Hell no, man. I'm a pussy man. I don't swing that way."

Francis felt relieved. At least one man was out, maybe the rest would follow.

Harley snorted. "I'll take any that I can. Any tight hole'll be good enough for me. 'Sides, he looks like a girl from behind."

"And who says you can only use his ass?" Pete said, smiling wickedly as he looked at Francis. "I bet the French love sucking cock, huh? Taught from a young age, I expect."

"How's our other little slave doing?" Jamal asked, leading Francis over to a corner of the room and stopping before a woman, her back to them, nude and scarred, lying on the floor. A metal collar was wrapped around her neck, angry red marks from it standing out on her pale neck. A rusty chain led from it to a hook hammered into the floor.

Francis felt his heart jump into his throat. He didn't see her moving. At all.

"The bitch is dead." the one sharpening his knife growled angrily. "Got all we could outta her, though. Ricky took her after she died—said she was still tight, but I ain't goin' that far. Still, at least she don't bitch and scream no more."

_Oh my God._ Francis thought with horror. _They're going to kill me. I'm going to die here, with that thing wrapped around my neck. And then after I'm gone, they'll… they…_

Francis was grateful when Pete brought him out of the dark thought. He pushed him to his knees and Francis was leaning over the dead woman. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see. It might be what he would look like soon.

"That's a good pussy boy." Pete crooned. Francis felt disgusted as the man stroked his hair. "Now we'll have to put this collar on you so you know you belong to us."

Jamal scoffed, standing over them with his arms folded. "Stop creepin', Pete. The fag'll whine more."

Pete glared, but shut up and finished fastening the collar. Francis's throat convulsed; this collar had been around a dead woman's neck.

His clothes were cut or stripped away. Francis tried to keep composed, looking down at the floor, ignoring all the dirty jibes coming from across the room.

So, this was the price he had to pay to keep Matthew and Arthur safe?

… Then he would gladly pay it a million times over.

He was ordered onto his hands and knees, and Francis complied without a sound. He was ordered to spread his legs. He did so.

"Look at that, boys," Jamal laughed. "A nice little fag cunt. All for you. Who's first?"

"Me," Harley said and walked over to Francis. The Frenchman could hear the man unbuckling his belt and his heart began to pound. The man chuckled and pressed on the back of Francis's head so that his face was pushed uncomfortably against the filthy linoleum floor—inches away from the dead woman.

"Ha, I ain't ever done it with a man before." he said in a low voice. Francis squinted his eyes closed and clenched his fists as he felt greasy hands pull his cheeks apart and a heated cock brush against his thigh. "But I guess you don't count as a man, do ya?"

Francis buried his head in his arms. He didn't want the others to see his tears. It would hurt. It would scar him in many more ways than just physically. And the only thought that comforted him was that Matthew was safe and Arthur was as well.

The man thrust into him and Francis withdrew into himself, to a better place.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Well, there it is, folks. Someone had to take the short end of the stick when it comes to the sick-ass men working with the Organization and I just happened to choose France. Why? Think about it. To him sex equals love. His sexual view will be permanently warped by this, I can tell you that. I know, I'm cruel, but more issues means more drama and I need to feed the beast that is this fic and all it will eat is twisted fucking drama. O_O

At this point I think this fic has possessed me. I am totally pulling the plot out of my ass, y'all. So if things seem random, just know that they most likely _are_. But I like spontaneity. Makes writing fun~ The most important thing, though, is that I know how this will all end-and not all of our nations will make it.

Anywho, what will happen to France? Will they find him in time? Will the criminals kill him? I'm using my announcer voice again, but fuck it, you guys are probably gonna be paranoid anyway even without it, hehe.

Btw, I know this is long commentary, but all this drama made me wanna write a really cracky fic. Like, all crack. And smut. So I did. Tomorrow I will be posting a one-shot: **No, Just No.** Until then, keep a lookout! :D


	45. As the Sky Weeps

**Augh, splitting up! Haven't they ever learned?  
**

Warning: Angst, threats, graphic description of violence.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**As the Sky Weeps**

The rain was coming down in sheets. But Ivan could not feel the cold, although the water was beginning to weigh down his coat.

He and Arthur were wandering down a narrow street, looking around for anything that may be a clue as to where the criminals were hiding. They were also trying to hide themselves, but the rain did most of that for them.

Arthur was shivering. It was fall, Ivan speculated, from how cool the days were growing. Before long, winter would be upon them, and they were in the north, where snow would pile up in feet. Not a problem for him, but for the others… they had to leave very soon. But they had to find Francis. Despite Ivan's dislike of the Frenchman (thank Napoleon for that, and Ivan was always one to hold a grudge), Francis was still Ivan's comrade, and they were a team now. That and if Francis were to die, Matthew would be sad. And when Matthew was sad, Alfred was sad.

It all worked out in his mind.

Arthur turned to him. "This street's clear. I don't think any of the shops would be an ideal place to hide. They're all broken into." He spoke loud enough to be heard over the rain, but not loud enough for anyone more than a few paces away to hear.

"Da," Ivan replied, taking one last look around. "Let us join up with Alfred and Kiku."

They had all previously agreed on a meeting point: a fountain in the center of town. It was an obvious landmark, sure to attract the criminals they were looking for, but they had no choice. With the rain falling down as hard as it was, the fountain was one of the only things they could all see at a distance.

They arrived and awaited the return of Alfred and Kiku. Ten minutes passed, and there was still no sign of them. Arthur had stopped shivering. He was too anxious about Alfred's absence to worry about the cold.

"I should have been the one to go with him, the bloody git." Arthur muttered, but Ivan's superior hearing picked up the words through the drumming rain. They had since taken up shelter beneath a store canopy to stay out of the rain. Ivan understood his worry. He was beginning to worry about them as well, especially Alfred. But Ivan knew Kiku, and the man would never let Alfred get into trouble.

Arthur wrung his hands again; Ivan wasn't sure the Briton even knew if he was doing it. Arthur just stared out through the rain, eyes fixed on the fountain, his gaze occasionally darting around to examine the streets that led to it for any sign of the others.

Another five minutes passed before Arthur stood and said, "Look,"

Ivan did, and saw two figures manifesting through the mists of rain. It was Kiku and Alfred, and they walked over to the fountain, looking around when they found that Ivan and Arthur were not there.

Arthur ran out to them and waved his arms until they spotted him. Alfred and Kiku met up with him, and they all rushed beneath the canopy.

"Anything?" Arthur asked hopefully.

Alfred was soaked, though Nantucket still stood defiant on his head. He had since taken off his glasses. "Nothing. All the stores were too wrecked to look occupied."

"Hai," Kiku replied. He looked smaller when he was wet. "None were fortified."

Arthur swore and scratched the back of his head, unsure of what to do. He lifted his eyes and studied the storm. It hadn't let up in the least. "The rain will last through the night, it looks like."

"We will stay here, then." Ivan said, motioning toward the store door. The glass was smashed in, and it didn't look very secure, but it would do to get them out of the rain. "We will continue our search in the morning."

"What about the others?" Alfred asked, concerned about Matthew. Losing two brothers in the span of a few hours would take its toll on the Canadian. "What'll they think when we don't return?"

"We'll have to take that risk." Arthur replied with a heavy sigh. "Catching a cold wouldn't be one of the best things to have in this situation."

"And Francis-san?" Kiku asked. "What will happen to him?"

They were all silent for a moment before Arthur said, "He's stubborn. He'll be all right 'til morning." But Arthur wasn't altogether sure of that claim. Those men were criminals, after all. Who knew what might conspire during the night?

In all honesty, Arthur was scared for Francis. And he couldn't believe that he was praying for Francis's well-being.

They all went inside, stepping carefully over the glass scattered beneath the door frame.

It was a pharmacy, with a desk, a waiting room, and shelves of medicines and various other amenities. They all decided that it would be best to stay as much out of sight as possible, so they jumped the counter, gaining access to the various files and drugs, bypassing them to sit in a little corner walled off by file cabinets.

They were all bitterly cold, except for Ivan, though Kiku hid it better than Arthur and Alfred, who were both huddling close together to keep off the shivers. Kiku, who was admittedly claustrophobic, made sure that he had a corner all to himself, well away from everyone else. He pulled his knees up to his front, arms wrapped around his shins.

Ivan, meanwhile, leaned against a cabinet and stared at the opposite wall, thinking about nothing. To him, the situation was so surreal—having lost one of their group members and being separated all within a few short hours—that he felt almost like he was somewhere else.

And he vaguely wondered… was Francis feeling the same thing?

* * *

Matthew lifted his head as Ludwig walked in from the back door. "Are they back?"

"Nein," Ludwig said, putting his gun on safety. "No sign of them. Yao's looking out now, maybe he'll spot something."

It was getting dark, and Matthew's fingers picked at the cushion he was sitting on. He had already torn a considerable slit in it from his anxiety. Sadiq was watching him with something akin to worry, having managed to sit up on his own on the mattress. Feliciano had been strangely quiet, chipping at the scuffed wooden floor with his nail. Gilbert was annoyingly pacing the room—had been ever since the others left. He would mumble under his breath to himself, as if arguing theories of what could have possibly happened to them or Francis, every once in a while stopping abruptly, sighing loudly, and shaking his head, then continuing on with his pacing again. It was driving Lovino mad.

"Would you stop walking around and fucking sit down already, bastard?" he growled, bad-tempered. Everyone was already tense, and Gilbert's pacing wasn't helping.

Gilbert flashed him a glare. "I can do whatever the fuck I want."

Ludwig huffed. "Now don't start fighting. We don't need the anxiety right now."

Gilbert rounded on him. "You lose a friend and then you tell me not to be anxious!"

And that just plain pissed Lovino the hell off. He stood, glaring. Feliciano tugged at his pant leg. "Lovi, don't—"

"I'm going to put this bastard in his fucking place, Feli." Lovino growled, then to Gilbert, he snapped, "Stop acting so fucking melodramatic. We don't know if the wine bastard is dead or not."

Gilbert's eyes flashed. "Ja? I'd rather he be dead than being tortured by those criminals! And who are you to butt in, huh? All you've done is bitch and whine for this whole trip. You've been melodramatic every fucking day. Who are you to tell me not to be melodramatic now that my friend may be dead?"

Lovino felt like punching the bastard in the gut. He fucking deserved it. But instead, he yelled, "Because you don't know what real grief is like!" _What am I saying? _Lovino mused, but the words were already out of his mouth before he could stop them. "You haven't seen someone close to you shot before your eyes, haven't seen their fucking blood pour out of them! You haven't seen that dead look in their eyes, how their muscles spasm just before they die, hear that gurgling noise in their throats! You haven't seen their fucking brains blown out and smeared on the ground! You haven't seen the killers laugh like it was some sort of fucking sick joke! You don't fucking know anything, goddammit!" Lovino was so lost in his rage, he didn't realize that tears were pouring down his face, hot and angry. He didn't feel embarrassed—more frustrated. Gilbert didn't know, he didn't even have the right…

_Antonio_, Lovino thought forlornly, and more tears came. _He doesn't understand what happened to you, goddammit. He will never know how much it fucking _hurts.

Gilbert was staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. But Lovino left before he could get a word out. He spun around and raced for the stairs, climbing them with such careless haste, that he nearly tripped and smashed his face on one of the steps. But he didn't care as he reached the top floor and rushed into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut.

And when he was there, alone and safe from judgmental eyes, he let out a sob and slid down the door, coming to rest at the bottom. He hadn't allowed himself to cry over Antonio, and now it had built up to this.

He threw his head back against the door and cried for a good half hour—until his eyes were stinging and puffy and his lungs were sore from sobbing. His whole body was shaking, and suddenly he felt… really tired.

In truth, Lovino hadn't slept in days. His dreams were haunted constantly by Antonio's bloody corpse. Every night, he'd wake up in a cold sweat, gasping, his heart aching.

Lovino slid to the floor, finding the soiled carpet a great deal more comfortable than the sleeping bag in which Antonio had come to haunt him in his dreams. He stretched out, too exhausted to move from in front of the door. He felt so defeated, so tired, so… _hopeless_.

_Why did you have to be brave, you bastard? _Lovino thought in a somber sort of anger. _We could have outrun them, I know we could have… you didn't have to die for me, you selfish fucker. _His eyes slipped closed of their own accord.

_Toni, why can't you still be alive?_

_ I miss you so fucking much, you stupid bastard._

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Things are about to get sad. Like, really sad, guys. And complicated. Dammit, I miss Spain, too! *cries* Spain, where are you and your churros? I need one right now, y'all, seriously. TT_TT


	46. What Can't Be Forgotten

**This chapter will leave a bittersweet taste in your mouth.  
**

Warning: Angst, some Spamano, fluff, lemon (not telling the pairing, that is a surprise!), verbal abuse, rape, and violent use of weapons.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**What Can't Be Forgotten**

"_Te amo, Lovi."_

_ Plump lips met his, and Lovino brought up his hands to tangle in the unruly brown locks._

_ "Te amo,"_

_ Soft hands ran up Lovino's sides, caressing, comforting, arousing. He wanted more. So much more…_

_ "Mi amor," The voice was as smooth as silk, as tempting as cool water in a sweltering desert. Lovino's body heated as he was laid down and the man he loved bent over him, kissing down his face, neck, and chest. _

_ "Mía para siempre…" Toni captured his lips once again, and they kissed softly, but passionately, Lovino pouring everything, every unsaid word, every feeling of love into it as he could. When they parted Lovino became frightened, and latched onto him, pulling him back down so that they lay chest-to-chest. Their heartbeats were as one._

_ Toni smiled that damn idiotic smile down at him. "What is it, my tomate lindo?"_

_ Lovino scoffed. He didn't tell Toni how much he adored the nickname, no matter how stupid it was. It was his. It was what Toni called him. And Toni loved him so much, he could tell…_

_ Lovino's arms wrapped more tightly around him, and he buried his face in Toni's shoulder, suddenly feeling the urge to cry, suddenly feeling like he would lose everything, but not knowing why. "Don't ever leave me, you bastard."_

_ Toni kept smiling against his neck and kissed him there. Such a sweet, soft kiss… it made Lovino desperate for more. _

_ "Of course I won't leave you, mi dulce." Toni replied. He pushed back to brush some stray hairs from Lovino's face. Those deep green eyes bore into the Italian's, making a new rush of tears gather behind Lovino's eyes. They were both naked, skin against skin, and Lovino had a desperate need to feel every inch of Toni's body against him. "Why would you ever say that?"_

_ Lovino blinked up at him, tears running down his face. But the bastard just kept on smiling. "Don't be fucking brave for me. I don't want you hurt…" He didn't know why he said it; all he knew was that it needed to be said._

_ "Lovino," Toni replied, staring straight at him, like he could see through him. "I will always be here. No matter what, mi amor. No matter what happens, I will always be with you."_

_ Lovino sobbed, not knowing why he was so sad, pulling Toni into a tight embrace. He just lay there and cried, not feeling in the least bit embarrassed. In Toni's arms, he was safe. In Toni's arms, he was not judged. With Toni, he was in love._

_ Toni whispered sweet words in Spanish in Lovino's ear; my darling, my sweet, my dear, my love. _

_ And a few little words flashed in Lovino's mind, as if it were echoing, as if it were all around him, inside him…_

_ "I love you, Lovino."_

_ "I love you, my tomate lindo."_

A rapid knocking brought Lovino to his senses.

He blinked open his eyes and sat up shakily, wearily, looking around.

Where was he? Had something happened while he had been asleep?

And then it all came back to him. The Uprising. The running. Antonio's death…

The knocking sounded again along with a voice on the other side of the door.

"Hey! Open up, dumbass. West said I should bring you your sleeping bag and unawesomely apologize to you…"

Lovino held in a sob, though his lungs ached to do so and his throat burned to let it free. He willed away tears as he pushed himself to his feet. If anything, he would not lose himself in front of the Prussian bastard again.

He opened the door, and Gilbert was standing there, his form starkly white against the darkness of the hallway. He held up Lovino's sleeping bag, looking meek.

"Here you go," He tossed it at him, and Lovino caught it in his arms. He glared.

Gilbert scratched the back of his head awkwardly, and looked at his shoes. "So, um, ja, I'm sorry or whatever for making you cry and shit…"

Lovino was about to shout that he had not been crying, but he stayed silent, still staring stonily at Gilbert. His eyes were red—Antonio's favorite color. They were red just like the tomatoes he and Lovino would pick together on a hot summer's day. Red just like the sauce they made for dinner on so many nights, just for the two of them. Red, just like the sheets Antonio had laid Lovino down on, had made love to him on…

He didn't realize that he was crying again until Gilbert looked up at him, expression turning to worry, and saying, "Lovino… are you all right? Jeez, I said I was sorry…"

Lovino gave an angry whine as he wiped furiously at his eyes. Every fucking time! Every fucking, goddamn time…

Gilbert was staring at him now. "Lovino?" The Prussian had that same look on his face that Antonio always had when he was worried that Lovino had hurt himself…

"No," Lovino muttered, but not to Gilbert.

Gilbert frowned. "What? Lovino, what are you say—?"

"No!" Lovino shouted, throwing down the sleeping bag and shaking his head. He couldn't stop crying. He just couldn't… "No, get out of my head, you bastard! You're dead! Leave me alone! I can't fucking cry for you anymore!"

Gilbert took a step back, staring warily at him. "L-Lovino, I think you're a bit tired…"

Lovino glared at Gilbert. The man he hated. Well, one of the worst, at least. He hated his over-inflated ego, his constant jibes and jokes, those ruby red eyes that reminded him every bit of his lover and of how he had died… the color of the blood that had run from his broken body…

Before Gilbert could move, Lovino marched up to him, a look of determined rage on his face. Those red eyes widened and…

Lovino kissed him.

Gilbert was so shocked that he nearly bolted when they parted. It was chaste, but it was also… desperate. Not the needy kind of desperate, nor the whorish kind… but a vital desperate, like Lovino wouldn't be sane without him. The amount of feeling passed through the short kiss was startling to Gilbert, but confusion left him as he went in for another.

Lovino accepted grudgingly, mind whirling. He was kissing a man he hated. Crying in front of him, now _kissing _him…

_I just want it to go away. _Lovino thought with longing as Gilbert's tongue slipped into his mouth. Lovino willingly accepted it, sucking on it. _I want Toni to go away._

_ Make me forget the hurt._

Lovino was in a type of delirium, but he focused on Gilbert's every touch to bring him back to the situation at hand. Somewhere in the mix, their clothes were discarded… and now they were lying naked, Gilbert on top of him, kissing him, giving him all that he wanted, distracting him, making him forget the void within him.

Slicked fingers prodded at his entrance, and Lovino gladly spread his legs, welcoming them inside. The digits were rough; Lovino bit his lip as they scissored him with haste. Above him, Gilbert panted, looking down at him with a sort of wild abandon in his eyes.

They both needed this.

The fingers were gone, and a cock soon pushed its way inside him. Lovino cried out, fingers digging into Gilbert's fair skin, and the Prussian bent forward, kissing down his face, his neck, his chest…

And then he was moving, in and out, in and out. Lovino indulged in his senses, the feelings flooding him. He let his thoughts of Antonio be chased away by his new-found pleasure.

A hand wrapped around Lovino's shaft, and he gasped out a word that was deaf to his own ears, coming in hot bursts that left him limp and sated.

He let Gilbert fuck him until he too reached his end. The Prussian didn't bother to pull out—his warm seed flooded Lovino's still-pulsing insides, heating him from within.

When it was finished, Gilbert rolled off of him to lie beside him on Lovino's sleeping bag, breaths heavy and sweat glistening on his skin. The Prussian turned to look at him, opened his mouth to say something, but Lovino didn't want to snap back to reality again so soon. He turned his back to Gilbert, slipped inside his sleeping bag, and shut his eyes.

This time, Antonio did not disturb his slumber.

* * *

Francis lay on the cold linoleum floor, defeated, defiled, done.

The last man zipped up and smiled down at him. "That was good, pussy boy. We'll give ya a couple of hours."

Francis held in a whimper, biting his lip which had long since split under the pressure of his teeth. He could still taste the men in his mouth, still feel their filthy cum running out of his abused ass…

He felt so violated and defeated that he wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry his eyes out. But he could not let these men see him weak, at least weaker than he already probably looked…

And it hurt. Incredibly so. The physical pain was horribly agonizing, but the mental damage the men had caused was far worse. They made him feel lower than dirt; like a thing to be used at anytime in any way. And it didn't help that he was chained up like a dog.

The men hadn't been gentle. Not in the least. As soon as Harley was finished taking him, another man quickly took his place. He was never given any time to recover, and at some point another man occupied his mouth. Francis had serviced everyone, sometimes twice over, even those opposed to fucking him. His stomach roiled to think of how much cum he had been forced to swallow and how much more had been forced up his ass. He wanted to throw up.

He now lay with his back to the men. He was relieved that he was being ignored… for now. He wanted more than anything to run away, to escape—but it was hard to think clearly with what had just happened.

An hour came and went. Francis had been counting the seconds, and he tensed, waiting for the abuse again. But the men seemed to be drifting off, and before long Francis could hear their soft snores. Not until everyone was asleep did Francis breathe a sigh of relief.

He lay there, in the dark and cold, completely nude and shivering with the onset of the autumn night air. But he forced himself to think; the time for enduring was over… he had to get back to Matthew, (he knew how the Canadian worried). He had to escape, for him…

His hands reached up, fingers cramming beneath the rusty collar, pulling, scrabbling. When it was clear that the collar was not coming off without the key, he tugged lightly on the chain, careful not to make too much noise. He was constantly glancing over his shoulder to confirm that the men were still sleeping across the cafeteria.

As he worked the chain, Francis couldn't help but feel utterly abandoned. Where were his friends? Weren't they coming to get him? Why hadn't they saved him? He felt a great anger toward them, and he promptly began blaming them for the rapes that he had endured. If they had been faster, if they had gotten to him sooner…

He flinched as the chain broke. Just snapped, the rust giving way. But Francis knew that couldn't be all that had broken the metal link. He lifted the chain, examining the break and blinked.

It had been previously worked, whittled away. He cast a grateful look over to the dead woman still lying beside him.

"Merci, madmoiselle." Francis whispered and gathered the chain still attached to the collar in his arms before sneaking slowly out of the cafeteria (but not before pulling on some pants, or rather what as left of them, and slipping on his shoes).

His whole body was tense, his ass aching, as he walked out, and a couple of times he had to catch his chain, keeping it from clattering to the floor. Once he passed the guard at the entrance to the cafeteria, he was as good as free.

And then his chain dropped.

He couldn't catch it.

It hit the floor with a loud _clang _and the guard stirred, eyes snapping open. Francis opened his mouth in a silent scream, then gathered up his chain, making a mad dash for the front of the school.

He could hear the guard shout, and in a moment, many more footfalls joined his. Francis's heart was pounding as he ran, and he reached the doors. He pushed through them, flying outside, tripping and falling onto his knees. The men were so close behind him… just behind the door…

He tried to get up, but stumbled over the chain. By the time he staggered to his feet, the men were upon him, guns at his temples and hands restrained behind his back

Jamal walked up to him, leering. "Oh, look. Pussy boy tried to escape. Don't mean to break your spirit, but we kinda expected a runaway. You're French, after all." Then he leaned down until they were close enough that Francis could smell his sour breath. "Now, how about you be a good little bitch and come quietly, huh?"

Francis knew he shouldn't do it, avidly screamed at himself in his mind not to, but he was just so angry. He looked Jamal right in the eyes and spit in his face.

Jamal blinked, more out of surprise than shock, and stood, wiping off his face with the back of his hand. He smiled.

"You know what?" Jamal said, his voice suspiciously soft. "I've decided we don't need your ass anymore. You cause too much trouble. And why keep you when we can have our pick of any guy within your group? How about that Asian one, eh? He looked cute—slippery as an eel, though. Or that blond, British one with the big eyebrows. Eh, I don't like them brows, but then again, I like taking any whore whose face is pressed against the floor. That's their place, after all. Better know it well."

Francis's eyes went wide, and he instantly regretted running away. He would do anything, even be a whore to these disgusting men to keep them from doing the same horrible things to the rest of his group. They didn't know about Matthew yet, but, oh God, if they found out…

"No, I'm your whore." Francis said. It was really hard to get out. "You chose me to take, so you have me. I will submit willingly. I have been with many other men before, so I know how to satisfy you. The rest… they do not."

Jamal's smile softened—only for it to disappear instantly. "Tell me, then. What kind of 'submissive whore' would try to run away and then spit in my face? That seems a bit too shady for me to just let go…"

Peter looked up from his place holding a gun to Francis's head. "Are we done here, Jamal?"

Jamal nodded, smile quickly returning, though considerably more sinister this time. "Yeah, I think we are. Dispose of him… we can't afford to have disobedient whores."

Francis yelped as his hair was tugged back. Pete pressed the gun barrel further into Francis's temple.

"Shoot so that he bleeds out slowly." Jamal said with amusement. "And after he's gone, we can all choose our own whores from his little friends."

Francis closed his eyes as the gun cocked. He wanted to do more, but he could not. He knew it was over. He only wished that he could have told Arthur that he loved him. Then again, that would only make the Briton hurt more when he found Francis dead at the hands of his captors.

_Matthew, my little one. Don't cry for me. I want you always to be happy…_

Peter pulled the trigger.

* * *

Translations:  


_Mía para siempre-_Mine forever

_Tomate lindo-_Cute tomato

_Mi dulce-_My sweet

The rest are pretty much self-explanatory.

A Word From the Writer: Damn, so much sadness and lemon-y goodness mixed in with this one! I have to say, this is one of my favorite chapters, just because of the stark contrast between the sex and the rape and because I got to write Spamano. I think you deserve a little Spamano after hearing Lovino talking and thinking about it for the longest time. But still, that ending... *sigh* well, it has finally come to this. The next few chapters will be incredibly sad and depressing, but still good drama nonetheless. Drama and death go hand in hand, but that doesn't mean it wasn't hard for me to write. France is one of my favorite characters (aside from Russia and England) because he's a pervert (like me). *Shrugs* Guess my favorites are the ones I pick on the most, so look out, hehe.

Those goddamn cliffhangers! XD


	47. Last Rose of Summer

**I just wanna huggle Canada. TT_TT  
**

Warning: Violence, weapons, threats, character death, mention of rape, just some really sad stuff, y'all.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Last Rose of Summer**

_Arthur stood on the cliffs of Dover, staring down into the turbulent waters below. On the horizon, a dark storm gathered, churning up the sea. The Briton felt so comforted by the sight, however gloomy it was. He missed the cliffs, and anything that reminded him of home was cause for happiness in his mind._

_ He walked toward the edge, intent on sitting on the wind-dried grass, but felt an urge to keep standing and keep walking. He went until he was at the very precipice of the cliffs, staring down at the water. It was strangely lulling, the waves and foam drawing him in…_

_ And then he found with horror that he was falling, the slope of the cliff flying past him, blurring… the salty wind stinging his face and eyes. He found that he had no breath to scream, the wind swiping away his words, falling, falling…_

_ When he hit the water, it felt like a million icy needles piercing his flesh. The breath was squeezed from his lungs, and Arthur flailed, scrambling for the surface. But no matter how much he swam, he could not reach it._

_ And then he looked down._

_ His former first mate, Christopher, once a bright and happy youth, was now a living corpse. His skin had the consistency of curdled milk, and it oozed off of his body with every sweeping current of water. His eyes were black and his smile was overly large._

_ "How nice to see you, captain," the boy said, grabbing Arthur's leg. "We feared you wouldn't join us… but we know you're a good captain. You pledged to go down with your ship, remember?"_

_ Arthur nearly gasped as his leg was pulled. His arms hurriedly parted the water above him, but Christopher continued to tug him downward, and many more hands darted out of the ocean's black depths to latch onto his limbs, his former crew come to retrieve him, dragging him down, down, down, into cold, into Hell… Arthur felt as if his lungs would explode._

_ And Christopher's voice, distorted by death, echoed in his mind._

_ "A good captain always goes down with his ship, Arthur."_

He sat bolt upright, clutching his chest and gasping in large amounts of air before falling back against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, panting, shaking, sweating despite the bitter cold.

"Bad dream?"

Arthur whipped his head around, heart hammering, to see Ivan observing him idly. The Briton tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.

"Y-yeah…" Arthur managed, though he was too stricken to say anything else.

That dream—it had felt so real. Like he couldn't breathe, like he was drowning. He could still feel his first mate's icy grip around his ankle…

Alfred shifted against him. The American was curled into him, sitting with his legs drawn up and head on Arthur's shoulder. The sight brought Arthur a bit of comfort, and he gave a small smile as Alfred lightly snored.

Kiku was awake also, and watching. His voice startled Arthur. "It is morning, and the rain has stopped. We should get going."

"Da," Ivan grunted as he stood, stretching a bit. "Wake Alfred up."

Arthur didn't want to leave. He didn't want to move. He wanted to stay here, holed away safely behind file cabinets, not wanting to return to the stark reality that was the Uprising. But he resigned himself, shaking Alfred awake. The American grumbled a bit before opening his eyes and asking groggily, "Morning already?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "We have to look for Francis."

Alfred sat up, stretching his arms, before remembering. "Mattie must be a wreck."

"Let us not linger, then." Ivan said, jumping the counter back into the store. The others followed, and then they were out in the sunlight, blinking for the harshness of it as it warmed their faces.

They walked around for a half an hour before spotting the school. It was placed away from downtown, which was where they had been originally looking. They stood before it, studying it curiously, before they crept up to the front doors and peered inside.

They saw no one… but they certainly heard somebody.

With that, Kiku said for them to follow him, to do exactly as he did. They obeyed, crouching when necessary, going slow, observing their surroundings with insurmountable scrutiny, as quiet as death. Then, they were by the cafeteria, where the group of criminals was gathered.

"Do we go in?" Alfred mouthed, anxious to shoot the fuckers.

Kiku peered in, noticing with relief that the men had piled their guns on a table in a far corner of the room. They were laughing and joking. It made Kiku sick.

He nodded to Alfred, seeing excitement light in Alfred's eyes before standing, leading them into the cafeteria.

The men were still laughing, not noticing their presence at first, and then one man's eyes went wide as he saw them. It wasn't long before all of them turned around to face them, in shock.

"Too cocky to fortify your entrances." Alfred said, glaring. He had his shotgun aimed at them. "Typical inmate. That's why only the Uprising freed you from prison, huh?"

A tall black man narrowed his eyes at them, his hands up, just like the rest of his group. "You didn't heed our warning." he said venomously. "You came to find us."

"Yes," Arthur said. "Now we've caught you with your trousers down."

One man eyed the assortment of weapons on the table in the corner and Alfred aimed his shotgun at him. "Don't move!"

The man stopped and put his hands up.

"We came here for our friend." Ivan said dangerously. "Where is Francis?"

Jamal guffawed. "Oh, you mean pussy boy? Yeah, we had our fun with him… you really missed out if you haven't taken his ass."

All the color drained from Arthur's face, and he felt like shooting the man right in the mouth, through those sickly-smiling teeth. But he restrained himself. "Where is he?" he ground out

Jamal stopped laughing to smile wickedly. He nodded across the room. "Right there for ya. Wrapped for pick up."

Their eyes trailed across the room and Arthur's heart sank.

A lifeless mound was sprawled in a dark corner. A blanket was draped over it. Blond hair fanned out from beneath it, caked with dried blood.

All they could do was stare in disbelief for a moment. A moment that seemed to last a lifetime.

They had lost a member of their group.

Francis was dead.

They were pulled abruptly out of their reverie by movement out of the corners of their vision. Ivan noticed it first and snapped his head back to the convicts before them, lifting his AK-47 and blasting a hole through one of the men's chests. He put two more bullets in him before the man fell to his knees, dropping face-forward onto the floor, blood pooling beneath him. From his hand, a .45 M1911 pistol clattered to the floor.

The other convicts had stopped moving toward the direction of the weapons table. They had been doing so slowly during the nations' momentary lapse of inattention.

And now that one of their own had been killed, it was all out war.

Ivan shot down another convict before he could reach the weapons table. Arthur wounded a man in the leg. The convict howled in pain and dropped to his knees before the Briton finished him off with a shot to the side of his head. Brain matter and blood flew as he collapsed, bleeding, onto the floor. Kiku pinned one man to a wall with a thrown shuriken. The blade pierced through his arm, through flesh, and he screamed as he struggled to get free. One man rushed at them, weaponless, intent on some hand-to-hand. But Alfred shot him in the hip and Kiku dispatched him with a long slice to his torso courtesy of his katana. Blood sprayed and the man gurgled a bit before dying. They all spotted Jamal trying to flee, and they all launched attacks at him at once, shooting and slicing him until he looked akin to a gutted pig.

The last man had managed to get a gun, and he aimed it shakily at Kiku. But Ivan, Alfred, and Arthur shot him down before he could pull the trigger.

At the sight of all of his comrades dead, the man held down by the shuriken writhed and screamed, and Alfred quickly put him out of his misery, more out of annoyance and rage than mercy.

When it was all through, they looked at each other. Arthur didn't realize his heart was beating hard enough to crack his ribs.

"We… that was a bloodbath." Alfred spoke what all of them were thinking.

"I have seen worse." Ivan said.

Kiku watched the blood drip from his katana. "They were going to kill us. We had no choice."

"No," Arthur muttered. "Francis is dead. That's why it happened… we didn't even think…"

"Francis," Alfred said, looking over at the body across the room. "We should… carry him back. Bury him properly."

"Da," Ivan said. "That would be best."

They all walked over to the corpse… oh God, the word was so hard to even think. Francis was gone. This was his corpse. Arthur's stomach roiled.

_You've done a lot of stupid things in your life, frog. _he thought. _But I never thought you'd die._

They stared down at the body under the white sheet, soaked with blood, blond hair matted with dirt and caked with red, in shock. This was a stark reality for them. They really weren't nations anymore. They could be killed by humans. No one was safe.

Ivan finally broke the tension and bent to pick Francis up. He held him in his arms as gently as he would hold any child.

Alfred could feel his gut twist. Mattie. He would be so heartbroken… and dammit, if they had gotten there earlier, if they had just kept looking instead of deciding to hunker down…

Ivan seemed to notice Alfred's brooding and said, his voice soft and sincere, "I think it is time that we returned."

* * *

Matthew turned as soon as he heard the back door open. And when he saw what Ivan was carrying—or rather who—he lost it.

"No," he said, as if trying to deny God the right to have his papa. "No, he can't be dead! He can't be dead!" It felt like a floodgate had been opened behind his eyes; there was no stopping the tears and he didn't care who saw them. Francis was dead, and there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it.

Alfred walked over to Matthew and held him, not saying a word. The Canadian wrapped his arms around him, clinging to him, as if he feared losing Alfred too, crying into his shoulder. No one said anything as Matthew grieved. They were all too busy taking in the tragedy.

Arthur stood by the door, looking away. Matthew sounded just like Alfred when he'd cried as a child… would Alfred cry the same way if something happened to Arthur? The Briton couldn't stand the thought of it. It made him realize how agonizing this must be for Matthew.

So. He was gone. The frog. The perverted cheesy monkey. His rival. Never in a million years—after so many years of combat with the Frenchman—did Arthur ever think it would end this way for Francis. Francis was always there, always a nuisance to him, a constant nagging in the back of his head, like a gnat he couldn't bat away. But now… there was a void.

He never knew he would miss Francis. Now, he admitted, he sorely did.

Matthew sobbed for a good ten minutes until his voice became raspy and his chest ached with every breath. He quieted eventually, just sniffling as Alfred hugged him tightly to his chest. Alfred knew Matthew just needed to be held. He'd always needed to be held when he was sad. Through their colonial years, Alfred had held him just like this, and he wouldn't let go until Matthew complained that he was crushing him.

And then Gilbert stood, snatching Ludwig's gun from right out of the holster at his brother's side. He had that face. That face he always had when he was intent upon killing someone.

"Where are those bastards?" he growled at Kiku. "I'll kill them with my own two hands!" He had lost two friends now, his very closest: first Antonio and now Francis. He hadn't admitted earlier that Antonio's death had hurt him, but now it was coming into stark realization with the sight of Francis's lifeless body.

Kiku gave him a solemn look. "They are no longer alive. We killed them all."

At this, Gilbert stared, then with a snarl of frustration, he tossed the gun across the room and smashed his fist into the wall, howling out his rage. He left a sizeable hole in the plaster, and his knuckles were bleeding and quite possibly bruised. But he didn't care. "I hope you killed them as brutally as possible. I would have caught them and broken every bone in their bodies before letting them bleed out."

The image shocked everyone, who were still reeling from the death, and Matthew stopped sniffling, staring. Then Ludwig put a hand on Gilbert's shoulder and said, "Bruder… I think you need to sit down."

Gilbert blinked, as if coming out of a daze, and complied. He stared blankly at the floor.

Across the room, Feliciano burst into tears. He had been so shocked at first, that the tears were kept at bay. But from Gilbert's outburst, he felt a harsh reality crash down upon him, and he put his face into his hands and cried and cried and cried. He had no desire to see Francis's body. Beside him, Lovino put his forehead to his temple, holding his hand, squeezing in reassurance. Feliciano's pant leg became wet from his brother's silent tears.

Once Matthew was consoled, they agreed to bury Francis. They looked for a place outside in the woods, spotting a beautiful rose bush. It seemed a sign to Arthur as he looked at it. It was fall, and bitterly cold, but the roses were still blooming, bright red and a dark, delicate pink.

Ivan dug the grave, just like he had with all the others. He had a sinking suspicion that he had been marked as the designated grave digger of the group, but he didn't mind the labor. Within ten minutes, the hole was dug. Ludwig and Gilbert lifted Francis's body into the grave. As Gilbert looked down into it, he found that Francis appeared quite small and fragile. His eyes welled with tears and he looked away.

Alfred muttered, "Do you want to take the sheet off?"

Matthew shook his head, suppressing another round of sobs. "No… no, leave it on. I don't want to see what they did to him." He couldn't see his papa hurt.

"Shall I fill it in?" Ivan asked, shovel at the ready.

"Wait," Arthur said, plucking some roses from off of the bush and dropping them down into the grave. "They were his favorite… it's only fitting."

At this, Matthew started crying again, muttering a string of 'thank you's to Arthur. He didn't know Arthur cared so much. He didn't know Arthur cared at all.

They all watched somberly as Ivan shoveled dirt over top of the corpse. It seemed so wrong in Arthur's eyes, covering him up like that forever. Dousing a light, that's what it was. A burning candle wick blown out abruptly with no warning whatsoever to the others relying on its light in the room.

And Arthur suddenly felt a longing in his gut. He had no one to argue with anymore over such petty things. He was already missing Francis's perverted remarks.

_Why do I want him back? _Arthur thought, his cheeks running wet and hot with tears. _Damn you, you French bastard. I can't believe you're making me cry over you._

They all came forward to say their words, but Arthur barely heard any of it. He was still so shocked by Francis's sudden death. The man who opposed him, the man who never gave up no matter how many times he was defeated, as annoying as that was. The man who, Arthur had to admit, had made a formidable opponent…

Was just… gone.

Just like that.

Forever.

Feliciano was taken back into the house by his brother afterward, followed by Ludwig, who was shrugged off by Gilbert. The albino was staring down at the mound of dirt, grief mixed with pure anger on his face, hands in his pockets. He later left with a growl of frustration rasped with mourning. Kiku left also, though no one really noticed, he was so quiet, taking the injured Sadiq with him. Wynston decided that he didn't need to see his father worry about him crying also, so he left Alfred to tend to Matthew. Yao shook his head, his heart hammering in his chest. In all his years, he had never seen nations drop like flies so quickly. Would he be next? Yao had always thought that, with his many years of experience, he could handle anything, but now… he was not so sure.

Then there were four: Ivan, Alfred, Matthew, and Arthur.

Matthew's crying had quieted a bit, but whimpers were still escaping him, and he couldn't stop them. He was gone. Francis was dead. He pulled away from Alfred to examine the grave, and for one wild moment, he contemplated snatching the shovel from Ivan, digging Francis up, and lying beside him. They would be buried together. It felt so right… it would be so beautiful and tragic, that Fate would weep for taking his papa away so cruelly…

And then Alfred's hand was on his shoulder, and Matthew remembered why he needed to live. He still had Alfred. Alfred would be devastated if he was gone. And he didn't want his brother to feel what agony Matthew was feeling now. Even though Alfred was an asshole, he didn't deserve this. No one deserved this.

He walked over to the grave. Being closer to it, knowing that just below his feet, the remnants of the man who had raised him—who he had called Papa—was curled up and cold, so many feet below, unreachable, salvageable, it was unbearable. His legs turned to jelly with the thought, and he went down, crying out as his knee snapped back into place with a very painful _pop_. On his knees. But he barely felt it; compared to his intense grief, it was but a trifle. Matthew put his face in his hands, hunched over, and cried all over again. But this time he _screamed. _It felt right. To tell the hellish world and the greedy God what pain they had caused him. So he screamed out his sorrows. Screamed out his frustration. Screamed out his pain.

Alfred didn't touch him. This was Matthew's moment. His brother needed this. He needed to vent his grief. He needed to let it out. But that didn't stop Alfred from silently crying to himself, hand over his face to hide it.

Arthur, though, wished with all his heart for Matthew to stop. Even though Francis had raised the boy, Arthur had always had a soft spot for him. He didn't like to see the Canadian cry. It broke his heart. He wanted to rush over and hug him and scream for him, take all his pain away with the power of his lungs, show him that he was not alone. But Arthur was still, and he listened to Matthew's mournful ballad. Without fully knowing it, tears streamed down his own face.

Ivan stared. Just stared. He did not cry. He did not mourn. He had decided when he'd found his dead sisters that he was through with mourning. In this hellhole of a world, there was no time for grief. And he had cried all the tears in his body in his youth, during his most turbulent times. He was stronger now, and Matthew was getting stronger in the same way he had.

The Canadian was learning that the world and God were cruel. Ivan had realized this long before and fully expected what precious things of his own could be taken from him at a moment's notice.

Matthew could have stayed out there forever. Could have cried for centuries. Could have just laid there and waited until Death took him, too. But Alfred's hand on his shoulder guided him to his feet.

"Let's go inside." Alfred muttered, letting Matthew lean on him (as his knee was still throbbing with pain), leading him back into the house.

Arthur continued to stare solemnly down at the grave, still not accepting the fact that Francis was gone.

"It is done," Ivan said. He stepped forward and drew a cross in the dirt above the grave with the point of his shovel.

Arthur felt tears push at his eyes again, and he seriously hoped that Francis didn't see them. Ivan was marking Francis's death. It was permanent now. Francis would never return.

They both made their way back into the house. It was still noon, but everyone was in their sleeping bags and respective resting places. Except for Alfred; the American was curled around his brother, holding Matthew on the couch, fingers intertwined with the Canadian's. Matthew had stopped crying, going suspiciously silent. His indigo stare was blank and myopic—as if he was not seeing anything. It worried Arthur.

Seeing as everyone was too stricken to speak, Arthur made his way to his sleeping bag and settled down in it. But he didn't feel like he could sleep. He was too shocked by the day's events to sleep. He was paranoid. Were there more convicts out there? Was the Organization near? Of course they were. Danger was always close. Francis's death proved that.

But Arthur lay down his head and stared, thinking it strange that he could no longer feel Francis watching him. Why did he miss that?

Was it that night with the thunder and the rain? When they had shared a tent and much more between them? They hadn't talked about what had conspired that night they'd spent together, curled up to each other. Arthur was too ashamed to even mention it. But he never realized how confusing it would be for him if Francis had died without giving him answers. What was all that about? Sure, Francis liked sex, and he had been trying to pick Arthur up for centuries. But, somehow, in the midst of all this hell, being forced close together, it made Arthur think that it could have been something more.

Could have been. Now that was the saying. Arthur had been too afraid to ask, and now he would never know. The thought made him feel guilty—guilty that he had not been able to give Francis whatever it was that the Frenchman had wanted from him. The man had died with too many loose strings. And now Arthur was paying for it in grief and in confusion.

_Stupid frog. _he thought almost grudgingly. _You've always been a git. And you stay true to it by dying and leaving a million questions behind. No doubt to only addle me for the rest of my life. I never thought I'd say this but… you won, Francis. Finally. You've left me with questions that have no answers, something which I cannot win over. Scheming prat…_

Arthur recalled how Francis had touched him and shook away the thoughts. _No, _he told himself firmly. _He's a no-good wanker. He just wanted some… nothing more. _Though Arthur knew he was just lying to himself to stave away what he really knew was truth. But the truth would only trouble him more, and he didn't need that in times like these.

Arthur swallowed dryly and closed his eyes, but sleep never found him. And he knew everyone else was in his same position. There were no heavy breaths. No snoring. No Alfred talking and squirming in his sleep.

But he would rather have had that instead of the agonizing silence that hung over them until evening fell and the first stars came out. Matthew shifted his gaze to stare out of the window with a kind of loathing admiration.

Francis was dead. And he couldn't believe the world was cold enough to go on, as if everything was perfectly normal.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Cheesy chapter title is cheesy. But all the sad stuff made up for it enough, I think. And, yes, England did cry. Why he did, even he doesn't know. And Prussia went berserk there for a second. Hmm, just watch him closely, people. There's definitely something more going on in his head than just his best friend dying.


	48. If We Could Go Back

**WARNING. Epic mindfuck ahead.  
**

Warning: Threats, angst, some arguments, mention of Spamano, RusAme, and Prumano.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**If We Could Go Back**

Ivan was surprised to admit it, but he felt cold without Alfred lying beside him. He glanced almost jealously at where he was laying on the couch with Matthew for what must have been the millionth time that night. The truth was, Ivan was scared. He rarely ever got scared.

But he was scared for Alfred.

Scared that when the time came, Ivan would be unable save him from the ever-snatching claws of Death.

He suddenly realized that they needed more time. And since he could not guarantee that, he settled for more time spent together. He was determined to know Alfred before they died. But they were running out of time.

As always, Gilbert couldn't stand the silence. But it was more out of anxiety than boredom. He sat up in his sleeping bag, and he could feel all of their gazes upon him.

"All right. All this quiet is… unawesome."

"Don't talk, then, dammit." Lovino growled, though his voice was raspy and defeated.

"No one else is." Gilbert said, barely able to look at the Italian. "You're all in a grieving stupor and no one is saying shit about what we should do next."

"Well, since you're so bloody talkative," Arthur snapped. "What do you propose we do?"

"I say we get the fuck out of here. It's not safe anymore, and who knows if there are more convicts nearby? Or some Organization member?"

"No," Matthew croaked, and everyone looked worriedly at him. He was staring right at Gilbert, eyes smoldering behind his glasses. "I want to be near Francis."

"Francis is dead." Gilbert said rather coldly, though he swallowed uncomfortably when he did. "What are you hoping for? The best thing to do is to accept that he's gone and move on before—"

"Let him mourn, for God's sake." Arthur said, pushing himself into a sitting position. "He's just lost the man who raised him!"

Gilbert stood, fists clenched. "And what if you lost Alfred by staying here, huh? Would feel guilty about staying _then_?"

"No one will touch him as long as I am around." Arthur said stonily. "_No one,_"

Alfred shook his head, but Arthur ignored him. The git would not be playing 'hero' again. That was for certain.

"I'm sure Mattie would have said the same thing about Francis, but look at him now! Nowhere civilized is safe. We have to accept that." Gilbert then added somberly, "We should have listened to Alfred. We should never have come here."

"We can't change that now." Ivan said. "What is done is done."

"Ja, but we can prevent more tragedies by leaving."

"You cold bastard." Matthew muttered, staring stonily at Gilbert. The Prussian snapped his gaze to him, mouth opening and closing, trying to form a reply, but too shocked at the accusation to do so. Matthew continued, "Francis was your _friend_. And now you're talking about him like he's nothing but a worthless pile of dust to be forgotten about as it blows away on the wind."

Gilbert scowled, offended. He looked just about to boil over with rage, but he held it in because of the position Matthew was in. In normal circumstances, though, he would shout down anyone who accused him of betraying his friends. "Don't make me out to be a heartless sonofabitch. I hate losing Francis just as much as you. But do you think this decision is _easy _for me? It's taking everything in me not to just snatch up a gun, pop off a round, shoot the fuck out of any of those bastards even slightly associated with that goddamn Organization who're not chickenshit enough to show up. But even though Francis is gone, I still have responsibilities. Just like you, and everyone else in here. You think I want my bruder killed like that, too? Goddammit, I've lost my two best friends and I'll be damned if I lose my bruder as well! Don't you understand? I've never run away from a fucking thing in my life, and now I'm being _forced _to. Because for once I realize that I _can't _stay and fight. After Toni and Francis—it took me fucking long enough and I'm not sure if I'll be able to maintain it, because every fiber of my body is fucking _screaming _to go out there and fuck anyone up who comes within my sight!"

They all fell into a stunned silence, Matthew staring with round eyes and Alfred glaring threateningly.

Ludwig finally stood and put a hand on his brother's tense shoulder. "East—"

"Nein," Gilbert shook off his hold. "We need to leave."

No one moved.

"Mattie," Alfred said. "He's right." Though he gave a look to Gilbert that clearly told him not to speak to Matthew like that ever again.

Matthew felt anger for his brother. Alfred was asking him to _abandon _Francis. He was sure Alfred wouldn't be so eager to do so if it had been Arthur who had been killed. But he forced himself to be calm—there was no need for more drama. Alfred, after all, only wanted the best for him. But Matthew was still reluctant. "But Francis—"

"Mattie," Alfred said firmly. "You have to let go. You can't keep lingering around here and getting lost in grief. Francis would have wanted you to be safe. You need to let go."

Matthew squinted his eyes shut. "I can't," he mumbled with strain, tears squeezed out from under the closed lids. "I _can't _let go, Al. Francis is, he was—"

Alfred's arms grew tighter around him. "He would have wanted you to leave. You still have your memories of him. He can't give anything else to you now. Staying here is not what he would have wanted for you."

Matthew shook his head, wanting to believe that Francis did want him to stay there, to continue to honor his memory, but he knew Francis would not have wanted that. He let out a shaky breath and nodded, "A-all right. When do we leave?"

Arthur examined the sky. Menacing, indigo clouds blotted out the moon and stars, and the rain still persisted. "When the rain stops. I'll be damned if I'm snuffed out by a cold."

* * *

It rained for two days straight. Occasionally, it would stop, and the group would scramble to pack their things. But when they were just heading out of the door, the rain would start again and they would be forced back inside.

Arthur, who in a way had become an unspoken leader of the group, was not taking any chances. Already they had lost two group members by murder and nearly another by illness. Both were things he was convinced he could protect against if only he could convince them to keep their heads and stick to their common sense. But now Arthur was in a tedious position. Now he felt that he had sole responsibility for the survival of the whole group. It was a great burden on his shoulders, but nothing that Arthur didn't think he could manage.

Nothing much happened during those days. Matthew was worriedly quiet and Alfred was always nearby. The American didn't openly comfort Matthew, because he knew that Matthew needed to get through this on his own. Gilbert was moodily silent. Once he'd suggested that they'd head out through the rain, but he had been quickly shouted down. Now he was brooding over in a secluded corner of the room, everyone being sure not to go near. Ludwig, however, muttered occasionally to him. But Gilbert never seemed to hear him. He kept glaring at the wall, his gaze menacing enough to burn through it. But it wasn't Francis that was on Gilbert's mind. No, he'd gotten that out of his system long ago.

He was thinking about he and Lovino. What they did a couple nights back. Was it desperation? Spite? Lovino had seemed so unstable when it had happened, but then again, the Italian had initiated it. But why? Hadn't he and Lovino just fought over Antonio's death? It didn't make sense. If Lovino claimed to love Antonio as much as he said he did—as much as Lovino _acted _as he did—then why, _why _would he want to have sex with Gilbert? Lovino had never liked Gilbert, had completely hated him, had expressed it a billion times over in every imaginable way.

He cast a glance over to the Italian, not for the first time that day. But Lovino's face was blank, held no hint to what he was thinking. The truth was, Gilbert had been watching Lovino more than he cared to admit. And he was worried. Lovino had never been one to let anyone he hated dominate him so easily. Well, maybe politically, but definitely not sexually. Lovino's behavior was unusual and worrying. Had the Italian finally cracked? He _had _lost his lover. And, apparently, he was still in love with Antonio. Very much so. And anyone who could get that close to Lovino must be really special. What Gilbert couldn't wrap his head around was why Lovino could possibly betray that love.

Betrayal. That's what Gilbert had done. Betrayed his best friend, Antonio, by sleeping with his living lover. And, somewhere (Gilbert hoped _up there_), Antonio was cursing him, shaking his head at him, disappointed. It made Gilbert's heart sink. Gilbert had always been loyal… until now. And to think that he was disturbing Antonio's rest… it made his stomach churn with guilt.

But it wasn't like Gilbert had hated the sex. It was fucking amazing to have such a release after weeks running and worrying. And Lovino had been surprisingly willing and responsive. He seemed like he wanted it, like he was desperate for it. And Gilbert felt so guilty about taking advantage of Lovino during a very sensitive time for him and he sorely hoped that Lovino didn't hate him for it. But after the sex, Lovino had been so quiet and cold. He didn't talk to him and, lately, didn't even acknowledge that Gilbert was there. When Gilbert had woken the next morning, Lovino was gone. Lovino's eyes were always downcast, his face always blank ever sinc. It unnerved Gilbert more than it rightfully should.

Now he felt a responsibility. _Toni, I'm sorry. I should never have done it, I should have rejected him… but I will take care of him now. For you. I'll make sure he stays safe._

But he couldn't deny a bit of jealousy. During the height of their passions, Lovino had shouted Antonio's name. Not his. Was Lovino just using Gilbert as a vessel to get off? It enraged and confused the Prussian at the same time. He needed answers. Antonio's death. Francis's murder. Lovino's aloofness. He needed some fucking answers or he might just go insane.

The days were getting colder, and this one was no different in bitterness. Everyone stayed confined to their sleeping bags during most of the day. Kiku, always being of sound mind, made them dinner from the cans they had gathered. The food warmed them, but only physically. Everyone was hollow on the inside.

Feliciano didn't like the silence. And he especially didn't like how Lovino was acting. His brother had always been a stick in the mud, yes, but he seemed to be really… empty. It was like his spirit had flown out of him and the Lovino he was actually seeing was nothing but an empty shell. Lovino just sat there in his sleeping bag, moving occasionally, but never really looking at anything. It was as if his brother had gone blind.

Feliciano longed to ask Lovino what was wrong, but if he tried he knew that he would be breaking the delicate atmosphere that had been created and he didn't want to have that responsibility.

Everyone pretty much kept to themselves. Alfred was near Matthew, but he never spoke to him. Not a word. He just sat there, picking at the seams in his sleeping bag, carving out the floorboards with the end of his pocketknife, or just staring at a wall. He should feel bored. But he wasn't, really. It was like he was waiting for something grand to happen. He didn't know what, but it was enough for him to keep quiet and stay patient.

But it was at Ivan's expense. The Russian was already so worked up about what little time they might have left together, and he and Alfred both knew it. Ivan kept glancing at him, a silent plea in his eyes for Alfred to look at him, to say something to him, to come lay with him, if only for a minute, _anything_. And it made Alfred sad. But it felt so wrong to indulge in his newfound love with Ivan when Matthew was suffering. Ivan knew that, too, but that didn't stop him from trying to convince Alfred otherwise.

Finally, in the evening on the second day, the rain stopped. At first, no one moved, only watched silently for it to start again, as per usual. But it didn't. And so, Arthur was the first one to speak for hours.

"We should go, if that's any sign." His voice was hoarse from not speaking for a while, and he cleared his throat. "Shall we?"

Within minutes, they were ready to leave. And it was a good thing too. The house had had an affect on all of them. They thought it was safe. They thought it would protect them. They had been so wrong. The house, now, was an evil thing, something that fed off of their naivety and their belief that it would prove a useful asset to them. In their own ways they saw it as a hunched monster, whispering comfort in one ear while plunging a knife in the other.

It had, after all, lulled them into a sense of false security. So much so that they had lost Francis. And that was unforgivable.

Wordless, they trundled into the woods at the back of the house. They had made sure to take everything with them that the house had offered, but it wasn't much. A few matches. A hammer. Ammunition. Some twine. A bungee cord.

Their walk through the woods was solemn. Matthew watched the house until it disappeared behind the trees. And then he felt a deep, longing ache in his chest, but a great weight lifting off his shoulders at the same time. The cycle of mourning had been broken. Francis was gone. They were leaving him to rest. There was no reason why Matthew needed to worry.

Wynston, who felt like he'd been thoroughly forgotten about, walked at the head of the group, guiding them along. Though it felt more like he was leading lambs to slaughter. It all fell to him, it seemed. He had been the one who had suggested that they go to the town. His dad had been right. And now, Wynston was paying for his refusal to listen to him in guilt.

Then he remembered something and stopped abruptly. He turned to them and was alarmed when only a few looked up to acknowledge him.

"Guys," he said with great effort. "There ain't gonna be another body a water for miles. I forgot to ask, but does everyone have enough water?"

There was silence as they checked their canteens.

"I'm all out," Alfred answered.

"Me too," Arthur replied.

"Si," Lovino muttered, and Feliciano jumped next to him. It had been the first word he had heard him say in days.

Wynston sighed, feeling, once again, guilty. "I shoulda known to ask ya'll sooner. I'm such a goddamn dumbass…"

"No," Alfred said. "You're just shaken. We're all shaken. It's no wonder none of us thought about refilling our canteens before we left."

"Al," Matthew said quietly. "We can't go back there." Matthew's heart was pounding at the prospect. He could just imagine walking past that house again, seeing Francis's ghost, seeing the disapproval in his eyes at the fact that Matthew had left him behind. It had taken him so much to let go. It was almost unfair to even suggest going back.

"We have to," Arthur said, looking in the direction of the town. "We should be near the square. There's a fountain there. I'm sure it's overflowing with rainwater. Could say less about the bugs…"

"We have iodine." Yao said. "Let's go, get it over with, and leave this fucking place."

It took them all but ten minutes to reach the square, and they made sure to thoroughly scan the place for others who might want to cause them harm. As soon as they had concluded that there was no one around, they began to move.

"No, wait." Sadiq said, leaning on Ludwig for support. He still looked pale from his illness, but he'd assured them he was well enough to walk. "Should we just go out in twos or threes? You know, just in case someone is waiting?"

"No," Alfred said firmly. "We're not splitting up again. Some of us almost died doing that and one did. More people equals more eyes. Come on." He walked out into this square, handgun gripped tightly and cocked. The others followed, taking out their weapons and readying them as well.

Alfred was so alert, he swore he could hear a beetle as it scurried across the asphalt a few feet away. His senses were enhanced by adrenaline. And to think he idolized these 'superpowers.' The rush of blood to his extremities and the stiffness of his muscles made him want to throw up with anxiety.

He stopped dead as he heard something coming from the other side of the fountain. It echoed around the square and bounced back to him, to the group.

"There's someone there." Ivan said.

Alfred was too highstrung to throw even the slightest glance over his shoulder at them. "Sounds like someone's crying."

"Crying?" Arthur wrinkled his nose. "What sort of git would cry in such an open location?"

"It's a trap." Kiku muttered, tugging on Alfred's shirt. "Don't do it, Alfred-san."

Kiku was especially perceptive. He knew what Alfred's intentions were just by the movement of the muscles in the American's back. He seemed to be relaxing.

"No," Alfred said with intrigue. "No… I don't think it's a trap." And he began walking toward the fountain.

Arthur raised his gun and cocked it, aiming it at Alfred. "Take another step and I'll make sure you'll need me to help you with walking."

But Alfred barely heard. He was listening to the crying. It sounded horrible. Long, drawn-out moans of despair. Gasping, hiccupping sobs. This was no trap. No one could fake crying that good—could force the air out of their lungs like they wished for it to be their last.

He kept walking.

Arthur knew he had threatened to shoot Alfred in the leg, but he lowered his gun. He couldn't do it. _Goddammit. _he cursed himself. _Still haven't changed after all these bloody years…_

But he _could _follow Alfred. The git seemed too preoccupied listening to whatever fake crying there was coming from the fountain that he didn't even have his gun raised anymore.

He followed, and the rest of the group was not far behind. The crying grew louder as they got closer, and then abruptly stopped, as if the person crying had heard their approach. They immediately aimed their weapons, but there was no movement behind the statue the stranger was supposedly hidden behind.

"Let's ambush them." Gilbert suggested. "Be ready."

They all consented, and with a mouthed count to three, they all rounded the fountain and aimed at the figure laying behind the statue.

He was blond, shirtless and dirty, curled up in a tight ball. He began to sob as they stood there, watching him.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked firmly while the others looked around for signs of foul play. "Get up and let us see you. Don't try anything, or we'll shoot."

The man stopped crying, his sorrow dissolved to quivering whimpers, and then he gave an almost surprised gasp. The group tensed as the man unfurled himself from his position faster than they would have liked and stood on shaky legs, looking at them all. He was soaked and shivering. Tears were running down his face.

"Oh my God." he cried. "Oh my God, you found me."

And then Matthew was pushing through to the head of the group as everyone stood, mouths agape and eyes wide. The Canadian looked at the man, dropped to his knees, and said, his voice barely a whisper:

_"Papa?"_

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Things are starting to get complicated. Prumano problems, RusAme angst, and now... this FTW cliffhanger I just left you. IT WILL HAUNT YOUR DREAMS. o_elll


	49. Just a Little Late

**Not really much I can say but "Surprise!"  
**

Warning: Angst, talk of rape, violence.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Just a Little Late**

They stood in stiff silence for a few moments. Matthew's heart seemed to have stopped altogether and his sanity was hanging by a thread. He awaited the answer, his lungs screaming for air as he held his breath, all the while a chant rising in his mind of _It can't be, it can't be, you're going crazy, Mattie, you're dead, you've died in your sleep, this is just a sick joke, it's a mirage… _

Then the man gave a watery smile and said, "Oui_, _Matthieu. It is your Papa." And he walked over, knelt, and embraced Matthew as tightly as he could. He started crying again. "I thought I would never see you again. Oh mon Dieu, mon petit lapin, you found me." The rest of his words were lost in sobs, and he pulled back to kiss Matthew's forehead, cheek, and nose.

But Matthew was in a stupor of sorts and he did not say anything as Francis continued to fawn over him, his expression stony. Everyone behind him watched with shock and were too stunned to say anything.

Francis noticed Matthew's silence and looked at him with concern. "Matthieu, mon douce, what is wrong? You found me, and I'll never leave again, I promise."

But Matthew took both of Francis's hands in his—and shoved them away from him.

Francis looked at him in disbelief. "Quoi? Matthieu, don't you—?"

"You're dead." Matthew said, standing. He was boiling with rage, and he didn't know why. "You're supposed to be dead, goddammit, _dead_!" Tears burned his eyes and he wiped them grudgingly away. "Stop teasing me, Francis. Just stop! Can't you see how hard it was for me to let you go? You don't belong here. You're dead. Go up into the sky or something. Just leave me alone!"

Francis shook his head and stood as well. "Non, non, I _am _real, lapin, I am alive. I never died! You thought I died? Oh my God, Matthieu, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, _please_." He reached out to touch Matthew again, but the younger nation moved away and glared.

"Shut up! Stop lying. Stop trying to make me feel better. I know you died. I saw your body in the grave!" He was shaking with rage. How dare Francis come back to haunt him? What did he do to deserve it?

"That wasn't my body!" Francis countered, looking close to tears himself. "Please, believe me, lapin. I'm not dead. I'm alive. I've always been alive. I don't know who you buried, but it wasn't me."

"Don't call me that!" Matthew snapped and scrubbed at his eyes. His chest heaved in a sob. "Go away, just go away…"

"Mattie," Alfred said, deciding it was time that he speak up. "He's real. I can see him."

"Not you, too!" Matthew rounded on him. "Stop teasing me!"

"I'm not." Alfred said, hurt.

"We can all see him, Matthew-san." Kiku said with absolute calm. "He's alive."

Francis held his arms out. "Please, come here, Matthieu. I'm sorry that you thought I was dead. It must have been agony for you. Please, you can touch me. I'm not a ghost. See," He pressed his hand against the stone of the fountain. "It doesn't go through. I'm real. I'm solid."

Matthew calmed himself enough that he just stared for a moment, saying nothing. If this was only Francis's spirit, he wanted to take him in as much as he could before he disappeared. But if this was the _real _Francis, if he was _alive_…

He walked over and wrapped his arms around Francis. The Frenchman sniffed and cried softly as he did the same to Matthew, and they just held each other for a moment. Matthew could feel the warmth radiating off of Francis's skin. He could feel his lungs expanding with each quivering breath. He could feel his heart beating in his chest.

"You are alive…" Matthew muttered and began to cry as well. "Papa, you're alive!"

"Oui, Matthieu, oui…" Francis replied and kissed Matthew's ear before pulling back and rubbing at his eyes and running nose. "Ugh, look at me. I'm such a mess."

Arthur scoffed. "Now we know it's the real Francis. In the afterlife, I'm sure he would have looked a great deal cleaner." He meant it to be a joke, but it sounded more like he was telling himself that in reassurance. Francis was alive. Shit, what a miracle. The fucking prat. _I cried over you_. Arthur thought ashamedly. _I cried over you and you're not even gone yet, another win for you, frogbreath. _But he took solace in knowing that Francis's spirit hadn't seen him cry for him. That would have been embarrassing. It was all very joyful, but Arthur felt something inside him break. _You thought Francis was dead_. he mused. _And what if he was? What would have happened to you? _Arthur would have liked to tell himself that he would have gone on just fine without the French git, but he knew he couldn't have. And that only managed to add to the roil that was going on inside his head.

Matthew was so overcome with emotion that he couldn't do anything but cry for a while. And Francis held him, murmuring soothing French, stroking his hair. Nobody spoke. Nobody wanted to break the fragile moment.

And then Matthew sniffed, looked up at Francis, and asked, "W-what happened?"

Francis peered down at him and shook his head. "Not here. We need to get out. The convicts I was with were talking about how they had contacted the Organization and how they were coming for us…"

"Right," Arthur said. "Let's fill our canteens and get the as far as we fucking can away from here."

* * *

They walked for miles, far away from the town. Alfred counted each step to make sure.

His anxiety was on high. Ever since Francis's return, Alfred felt as if it was all too good to be true—that, sooner or later, they were going to lose another group member, this time for good. And he was determined not to let that happen. They'd had a scare with both Francis and Sadiq now. He would feel like a failure if he let it happen again.

He was glad to see that Matthew was happy again. His brother was laughing and smiling at every word Francis said, even though most of it was corny bullshit. Although most of it was spoken in French, Alfred could tell from the tone that it was rather gushy. He glanced back over his shoulder at the pair and felt a mushy smile part his lips in spite of himself. Though he noticed that Matthew, however happy he appeared to be, kept glancing at the collar and chain that was wrapped around Francis's neck, hidden beneath the thick wool coat Matthew had packed and given to him to keep him warm. Everyone had noticed the collar, but they were all too scared to ask why or how it was there.

Lovino bumped into him. "Oops, sorry, man." Alfred muttered, but the Italian only grunted and righted himself before trundling off to the edge of the group. Alfred frowned after him. Lovino had been acting rather withdrawn lately. Normally, the Italian would be in the midst of the group to satisfy his sense of security, but he seemed now to be growing more distant by the day. Not even Feliciano seemed to be able to help. Feliciano stared worriedly after his brother, but didn't go over to him.

But what really worried Alfred was Arthur. The Briton seemed high-strung, if flinching at every crack of a twig and caw of a bird wasn't enough evidence. Every once in a while, Arthur would whip his head around, as if hearing a bear slashing its way up to him, scanning his eyes over all of them before clearly relaxing and turning back around.

He walked over and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. His frown deepened when the older man flinched. "Everything all right, Artie?"

Arthur let out a breath. "Yes, everything is fine, Alfred."

The response was hollow, and Alfred wanted to ask Arthur more, but the statement was obviously dismissive. Sighing in defeat, he dropped to the back of the group again and found himself walking beside Ivan.

"You look tired." the Russian said, not turning his head.

Alfred laughed at that. "Yeah, well, we all look pretty fucked up."

"Nyet," Ivan said, his voice dropping. He didn't dare move closer to Alfred or even look at him for the risk of their relationship being found out. Ivan wouldn't mind the exposure, though. He wanted everyone to know. But Alfred's pride was still something to consider, and he didn't want to drive the American away when he had gotten this close. "I am meaning that you have been distant."

"Distant?" Alfred mumbled. He wasn't distant. Arthur and Lovino had been distant.

"Da, distant." Ivan replied.

Alfred came to a realization and sighed. "Ivan, I'm sorry for seeming that way to you. But Mattie needed me—"

"And you do not think that I need you as well?" Ivan asked. They met eyes for a moment and Alfred gave a flustered blush before looking away abruptly.

"I didn't think that—"

"Now Matvey is better." Ivan cut in. "We can… be together now, da?" It was a big step for Ivan. His heart had been thoroughly stomped on throughout the centuries and he didn't know if he could handle it if he was rejected now.

But Alfred gave a small smile. It was just a flicker of a smile, here one second, gone the next. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Ivan was internally embarrassed as his heart began to beat. It seemed so loud to his ears, which hadn't heard the muscle's sounds for a long while. Could anyone else hear it? It was beating loud enough…

He had a great yearning to kiss Alfred right then, in front of everybody, and he didn't care who saw. But Alfred's silence and downcast eyes reminded him that this had to stay their secret—for now.

"There are no other towns for miles." Wynston said, back to his normal, upbeat self. Francis wasn't dead because of him. And now he would be sure to make up for his mistake by leading them as deep into the wild, as far from the dangers of civilization, as possible. "We should rest."

The others consented and they quickly made camp. The sun was hanging low in the sky and the approaching night was sapping all of the warmth from the earth. When they had first formed their little group, it had been the end of summer. Now, they were in the thick of fall. The nights were getting longer and colder, and, pretty soon, it would snow. Feet of it. And then they would freeze.

Wynston was worrying over this, naturally. He knew how cold it could get during the winter in Wyoming, and without adequate clothing and shelter… they might as well shoot themselves in the foot because they were already half dead and it would take but a little to finish them off.

So, as they started a fire that night and huddled around it, sleeping bags wrapped around them to shield from the chill, the state said, "We'll freeze if we stay here much longer. We need ta head south. That's our only chance."

"We can only go so many miles a day." Arthur replied. "And we've already settled that we will not be visiting anymore towns except to stock up on supplies. We're on our own now."

The last statement seemed to ring through the air like a bell. Everyone brooded on that thought and how hard it would be to actually live up to it… or live through it at all.

"Wynston's right." Alfred said from his place beside Matthew. "We need to move south. Hell, people _died _out here with the first move west. And when the snow rolled in… people fucking cannibalized each other (1). In the end, it was survival of the fittest. I don't want us to ever have to come to that. I don't want to turn into a goddamn animal…" Alfred swallowed dryly, recalling the man he'd beaten to death not but a few days ago. Would he have eaten him, too? He'd lost himself enough to pound the bastard into a pulp, who knew what would have happened if Arthur hadn't stopped him…? "We have to move fast. That's our only chance. We're approaching the plains. It's tough out there. No trees for miles, sometimes. Nothing but small mammals or bison to eat, and both take time and skill to catch. By now, the herds will be moving south… and everything else will go with them. If we don't follow, we'll starve. If we're going to live like animals, we're going to have to follow the rest."

Wynston exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus. I haven't lived like that for a century an' a half. An' with the herds so depleted, who knows if we'll come across any bison? They're so small in number… damn, I had Injuns helpin' me last time. An' afta so long… I don't know if I'll be able ta do it on my own."

"But you won't be doing it on your own." Arthur said. "We'll all learn. We'll have to. Sure, it's been near five or six centuries since I've lived a meager life. It's hard, that's all I can remember. But the British Empire didn't thrive on ignorance and languid demeanors. I'll learn. We'll all learn with time. It's amazing how much people can accomplish in dire circumstances. And we'll be the same."

There was silence. Then Arthur cleared his throat and looked at Francis. He didn't want to ask, but then again he had to know. Francis met his eyes, a flicker of fear passing behind them, as if he knew what he was going to be asked.

"Francis. What happened?"

Francis took a deep breath and shook his head. "Oh, Dieu, it was a miracle. Never had I been so aware of my very being as then, when my life could be snuffed out so easily, at any moment…"

* * *

_Francis closed his eyes as the gun cocked. He wanted to do more, but he could not. He knew it was over. He only wished that he could have told Arthur that he loved him. Then again, that would only make the Briton hurt more when he found Francis dead at the hands of his captors._

Matthew, my little one. Don't cry for me. I want you always to be happy…

_ Peter pulled the trigger._

_ And the gun jammed._

_ "What…?" Peter was so surprised at the complication that he gave Francis time—precious time. And within that short moment, Francis realized that he didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave Matthew, who he loved so dearly who depended so much on him. He didn't want to leave Arthur, whom he hadn't yet had a chance to love._

_ Determination sparked within him, more powerful than any drive he'd felt before. This wasn't for his country. He had none. This wasn't for his people. None were loyal to him now. This was for _him_, Francis, and it seemed strangely more intimate now that he was the one who was being directly targeted._

_ So, as Peter was fumbling with his gun and Jamal was scoffing at him for his lack of skill, Francis managed to wrench out of the grip of the men holding him. Before the convicts could come through their shock, Francis had taken up the chain attached to the collar around his neck in both hands, whipping it around in a wide, whistling arc. The men screeched as he slashed the chain along their chests, shoulders, and heads. Blood sprayed from broken noses and split lips. _

_ "Holy fuck!" Peter shouted, and Francis quickly smote him down with his chain-whip. Next, he turned to Jamal and swung the chain in his direction, the links rattling menacingly. There was fire in his eyes._

_ These men had hurt him._

_ And now he wanted to see their blood pool._

_ Francis shook with a kind of morbid excitement. All the blood and violence… it was just like his revolution. The red coated his chain just as it had coated the blade of the guillotine as it went down, down, down, for hours, hours, hours._

_ And he found it exciting. Vanquishing those he didn't like. Of course, he'd come to his senses afterwards, but there was no denying that this situation brought that urge back out in him._

_ Oh, God. He was killing._

_ And he didn't care._

_ The little manic giggle that escaped him frightened him more than he could say as he struck down the convicts. Jamal, who had ducked out of the way of his chain many times now, ducked again and made a grab for him. _

_ But Francis dodged, dancing out of the way like the old days when he fought with not a chain, but a whetted cutlass._

_ And then a hand gripped his shoulder, and just like that, his reverie was broken. He snapped out of it and then realized that he was still surrounded by many men. And now they looked severely _pissed_._

_ His chain dropped, and Francis turned on his heel, escaping from the man's grasp, his instincts taking over, fleeing for his life. The convicts followed, some stumbling and groaning from their injuries, shouting obscenities after him, pursuing him with overly loud feet._

_ He ran to the woods, the only place he considered safe anymore. Towns were evil. Towns were a plague. _

_ Francis dove into the brush, fighting his way through, only realizing after five minutes of flight that his chain was rattling, drawing the convicts to him like foxhounds to the sent of the quarry._

_ He had the sense to grab the chain to keep it from making noise and snagging him on the various bushes and underbrush. He could hear the men shouting behind him, but Francis was running, sprinting, his energy seeming endless. _Run, run, run. _was what his body was screaming at him. _Run back to Matthew, and Arthur, and the rest.

_But the convicts were gaining, although they seemed to have lost him, and Francis's strength began to wane. His heart throwing itself against his ribs, Francis's eyes darted around the ground until they locked on a thicket. He dove for it, thistles piercing his flesh and snagging his hair, taking out some of it, but that mattered little to him. He fought to keep his voice silent as he continued to force himself through the thicket, bleeding from the cuts he picked up along the way._

_ And then he waited. It seemed like forever until he could see the convicts. There. Right _there, _in front of him. And it seemed to Francis, as ridiculous as it sounded, that they could see him, like Francis was a bright beacon shining through the brush and, oh God, they would find him, they would…_

_ But the convicts convened, cursed, and trudged off through the woods. Francis waited until dark, crouched in that thorny thicket, the insects sounding their night songs around him, moving beneath his feet, but Francis didn't care._

_ Finally, he calmed himself enough to crawl out. He was cold, shivering, his sweat having cooled significantly against his skin. He was freezing, but he was only vaguely aware. He needed to get home. Home—the group._

_ But how? He was lost. There was no way back…_

_ Francis sat down in the dirt, shirtless, chilled, hopeless, and he felt something annoyingly grinding into his thigh…_

_ Francis jumped, thinking it was some animal, and then realizing that it was something in his pants. Desperate, he clawed it out and raised it up to a stream of moonlight shining in through the trees._

_ A compass. Arthur's compass. No, _his_, compass now. He'd won it from him in a game betting who would survive or not. It seemed so far away now and so barbaric. How could they have played that game when life was too precious to place a price on?_

_ East. That's where he needed to go. Because he remembered Wynston saying that they had to head west before they reached the town…_

_ He stood, shivering, and guided himself in that direction. Examining the forest ahead of him, he swallowed and looked up at the moon. So beautiful and bright. Nothing could touch it._

_ How ironic._

_ Would he survive? He was so cold already…_

_ But he didn't think about that as he followed the direction of the compass. His life depended on that compass. And it was because of the fact that it was Arthur's that Francis credited the maintenance of sanity. _

_ He walked for hours until he reached the town, after his bare torso was numb from the cold. He stepped out into the open, fearing the men would see him, but he was no longer by the old school. He was in the square. A fountain sat in the center, beckoning him._

_ Francis walked toward it, the wind driving icy needles into his skin. Above him, the sky rumbled menacingly, its only warning before a crack of lightning illuminated the gray clouds and the stark buildings around the square, and rain began to fall._

_ Francis knew that if he didn't find shelter, he would freeze to death. He willed his numb legs to move to the nearest shelter: a thrift store. _

_ He dove in and found a place beneath a rack of clothing, feeling safer with a curtain of cloth surrounding him. He pulled his legs up to him and studied the compass, the thing that had kept him alive. He thought about Arthur, not for the first time, and kissed it as if it were the Briton's own lips; soft and affectionate._

Please, _he begged. _Let me live. I've gotten so far. At least let me tell Matthieu and Arthur goodbye. At least let me see their faces again.

_He fell asleep like that, curled up in the cramped space. But his body was so exhausted, he could care less about the uncomfortable position. That and he was scared that the men were going to come in at any moment and find him unless he stayed hidden in the clothes._

_ The warmth of the sun heating the clothing woke him, and he stayed in the rack for a while, warming his frigid body. He sniffled, his nose running, and sneezed. He looked at his hands. They were so pale, pricked with thistles, and shaking. He would have a cold before long. That sapped all the hope out of him._

I have to get back. _he thought determinedly. _I have to. I have to.

Before I die.

_He followed the route back to the house the others were at. The sun was centered in the sky—it was noon. When had it stopped raining?_

_ Why did he care? At least it was warm._

_ He reached the place, and, too tired to walk around to the back, he fell to his knees and rapped on the door. When no one moved inside the house, he knocked again._

_ "C'est moi… Francis… mes amis… please…"_

_ Nothing._

_ His heart leapt into his throat and he forced himself to his feet, knocking louder. "Hello? Please, come outside. I'm back, please, come and get me. I don't think I can…"_

_ Still, nothing._

_ Francis forced himself to walk around the house to the back door. His hands steadied him against the wall as he moved along, weary and frightened that he may have been forgotten. He reached the door and stepped inside._

_ Gone. They really were gone. They had left without him. They probably thought he was dead. _

_ Francis was angry at first. How could they assume him to be dead if they never came for him? How could they leave so soon? They barely even tried!_

_ Francis felt numb as he continued back around the house and to the square again. Ten minutes passed, but he barely noticed. He sat on the fountain, staring at the woods. Yes, that's where they should have gone. They wouldn't stay in town after what had happened. They wouldn't stay in any town…_

_ Tears sprung to Francis's eyes, and he didn't try to stop them. He let them come, let them slide down his cheeks as he choked out a sob. He was alone. All alone. The group had left him without even knowing he was still alive. And not even Arthur's compass could help him now._

_ Oh God, Arthur. What was the Briton thinking? Was he sad that Francis was gone? No, probably not. He was probably rejoicing…_

_ He laid down on the cold, wet stone, curling up and burying his face in his hands. _What a fool. _he mused. _What a fool you are, Francis. You thought you could live forever. What a goddamn fool.

_ He couldn't escape death—not twice. The men were still looking around for him, he knew. And he cried as loudly as he goddamned pleased, because he would have his way before they came for him._

_ No Matthew. No Arthur. No anybody. He was alone, and he'd given up. He almost wished the men would hurry to find him, to kill him, even though he knew they would do many more horrible things before they had the mercy to dispatch him…_

_ And then he heard feet approaching. His fear came back to him along with all the terrible memories of the abuse. He broke out in shudders, not from the cold. He didn't want to be raped again. He didn't want those filthy men to touch him… _Kill me. Please, dear God, just kill me.

_Oh God. They were coming around the fountain. Francis squeezed his eyes shut and began crying again. They would take him, right here, the cold bastards. They didn't give a shit if he suffered. God, what had he done to deserve this? _I'm sorry! I'm sorry!

_ And then, "Who are you?"_

_ Francis stopped crying. His heart almost stopped._

_ "Get up and let us see you. Don't try anything, or we'll shoot."_

_ No. No, it can't be. He was dying, and he was hearing what he wanted to hear. He was hearing Arthur's voice, and it sounded so beautiful to Francis's ears. Shaking, he unfurled himself and stood, turning to face him…_

_ And found that the whole group was there, staring, mouths agape, at him. He was so shocked that all he could say was, "Oh my God. Oh my God, you found me."_

_ Then Matthew came through and stared at him, eyes wide, dropping to his knees. "Papa?"_

_ Francis began to cry again. "Oui, Matthieu. It is your Papa."_

* * *

Francis's throat grew scratchy, and he cleared it. "So… that is what happened." Francis left out everything he'd thought about Arthur, but telling it still made him feel exposed.

Everyone was quiet, taking it in. Arthur, especially. Francis had used his compass to find them. If Arthur had never given Francis that compass…

"We killed them all. You don't have to worry." Matthew said, then he added more quietly, "But you're not telling us everything." He felt guilty about asking this in front of everyone, and even asking him at all, but they were a team now, and in order to survive they needed to be honest with each other. "What did those men do to you, Francis? Why are you wearing that…?" He left the question hanging, the collar and chain so loathsome that he refused to address it. Who would do such a thing?

All eyes fell on Francis, but the Frenchman was shaking. He still had Matthew's coat on, but he didn't think he could tell them what happened. It had only been a few hours ago, and the scars were too fresh to talk about without painfully ripping them open. But he understood that he needed to get it off his chest. If he didn't, he felt as if he would become isolated. And, if anything, he didn't want to be separated from his group again.

So, he took a deep breath and, staring at the ground, said, "There was another captive there before me. A woman. She was chained up with this…" He lifted the chain. "She was dead. Had just died before I'd gotten there. The men said they'd used her… t-too much. They had worn her out. I think she was the one you mistook for me and buried."

Tears came to Matthew's eyes even though Francis had yet to fully answer his question. He knew what was coming, and he hoped to God it wasn't true. It was obvious that Francis was struggling to begin again, was just staring blankly down at the ground, hands shaking, his breathing ragged. Matthew took his hand and held it tightly. Francis gave a little sob and smiled weakly at the comfort he received from the touch.

"They said they needed a new one, a new… whore. They said they would use me… they stripped me down, I lost my shirt." His laugh was hollow and weak. "They took the collar off the woman and put it on me… a-and they took me right there, r-right next to her. I felt so sick… there were many of them. I don't remember how many, because I stopped counting. They used me from behind and there were some that didn't want to… th-they used my mouth. All of them had their turn. Sick bastards. They made me swallow…" Francis's throat contracted, and bile burned its way up from his stomach.

"No," Matthew cried and brought the back of Francis's hand to his lips.

But Francis pulled his hand back and stood, looking at them all. His face was pale and his eyes bloodshot. "Pardon-moi—I'm going to throw up." And he hurried off into the forest. But he didn't get far. They could hear the retching.

Matthew had dissolved into sobs, face in his hands. How could anyone be so heartless? Why hadn't they tried harder to rescue Francis? Why hadn't they gotten to him sooner?

"Mattie," Alfred muttered and moved over to him, reaching out.

Matthew raised his head and glared at him. "Don't touch me." he half-cried. "You were too late. Why were you too late?"

Alfred drew back and shook his head. "Mattie, it wasn't our fault. The rain—"

"Who gives a shit about the rain?" Matthew shouted, getting to his feet. "You were too fucking late, Alfred!" He glared at those who were in the rescue group. "Arthur, Kiku, Ivan. Too _fucking_ late!" And he marched off into the trees. His consoling voice could be heard, followed by more retching.

* * *

Translations:  


Mon douce-My sweet

Quoi?-What?

References:

1-The Donner Party: A wagon train of 81 people heading across the west to California during 1846. Since maps of the American West were hardly accurate at that time, most hadn't a clue where they were going. As so, they usually took up with the natives (mostly ones befriended by the French fur traders) to direct them across the country. At one point, one native told them that they should probably hunker down and wait until winter blew over to journey any further, but (being the pretentious, Manifest-Destiny-supporting pioneers they were) the party decided to forgo the warnings and as a result found themselves trapped in the Sierra Nevadas by a large winter storm. The party (luckily) found some cabins and made camp, but food stores quickly ran out. So a group of 15 (very brave) people decided to attempt to reach California on snowshoes. But only seven of this party ever made it to any form of civilization and only because they cannibalized their dead companions. The first search party reached the rest of the encamped party in February of 1847, 10 months after the original party had set out, only to find 36 had succumbed to exposure, starvation, disease, and trauma. Most of the 45 survivors had also resorted to cannibalism. So, a lesson to everyone: if you don't know the lay of the land, listen to those who have been living there for hundreds of years and _do _know before proceeding. Common sense or chewing on a Larry Popsicle. Your choice. (Hush, there's always a Larry!)

A Word From the Writer: _Winter is coming_. I'm sorry, I just had to say it. :3 Annnnyway, I know what you're thinking: "Why would you kill a character and make it all sad and then bring him back? What are you playing at, you cold bastard?" Think about it. I never said in my commentary that France had died. Sure, I talked a lot about death and how it added to the drama, blah, blah, blah. I did it for the feels, y'all. And I'm not gonna reveal everything now, but I will tell you that I have killed off two characters so far in my writing (and they're not my OCs). There will be a lot of close calls as well, just like this one. You think I'd let you relax? Pfft, yeah right!

And, wow, Canada blew up. Who knew he could have such a temper after being ignored for most of his life?


	50. Catch Me Falling

**Angst overload ahead. I do not take any responsibility for injuries from extreme feels!  
**

Warning: Angst (LOTS), paranoia, a frightening scenario, gore, RuseAme fluff, and tense Prumano.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Catch Me Falling**

Matthew slept with Francis. They took a tent after the Frenchman had thrown up all the food in his stomach… but it was worth it. At least the mens' cum was out of him.

Francis wanted to be close. And so did Matthew. The Canadian crawled into his sleeping bag and wrapped his arms around him. They were facing each other.

Francis couldn't stop staring at him. He gave a small smile. "You are so beautiful, Matthieu. Just like your Papa."

Matthew laughed softly in spite of himself and said, "Are you okay, Francis?" What a stupid question. He'd been raped by who knew how many men. Of course he wasn't! He rephrased the question, "Is there anything I can do to help you? I don't want you to lose whatever happiness you have left."

Francis sighed. "Just… stay close to me."

"I can do that."

Silence.

"Mon lapin?"

"Papa?"

"I'm sorry you thought I was dead."

Matthew huffed. "You don't have to say sorry, Francis. I already told you that."

"Je sais," Francis muttered, looking into his eyes. He ran his fingers through Matthew's hair. Oh God. If he could never do that again… "But I can't stand seeing you sad."

Matthew smiled and tears pushed their way to his eyes. He ran his fingers over the chain leading from Francis's neck. "God, I don't want to see this on you. I should have gone. I would have given them hell."

Francis smiled sadly. "It's not your fault, nor anyone else's. It was purely bad luck. You were unstable. It would have given me great terror to see you come to rescue me. I want you to be safe." Then he added, "And this chain does not hamper me. It is broken. I broke it for you. I wanted to see you again, petit. I wanted to see my little one again."

Matthew's eyes clouded with tears and he hugged Francis. "Je t'aime, Papa."

"Je t'aime aussi, mon lapin."

And they fell asleep like that, holding each other as tightly as they could. Or at least Matthew did. Francis was too afraid the convicts would wreak havoc in his unconscious mind.

* * *

Arthur, meanwhile, was bunking with Sadiq. Their tent mates had left them, and someone needed to be there to watch over Sadiq. Despite the Turk's denial, he was still sick.

"Did you take your medication?" Arthur asked as Sadiq inched gingerly into his sleeping bag. Even through the dark, his face was strained.

Sadiq scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, don't worry so much. And no bitching like you always do. I'm too tired for that shit."

"I do not bitch." Arthur flashed back, but Sadiq was already asleep—or ignoring him. So Arthur just lay there, staring up at the arc of the tent. Francis was back. The stubborn bastard hadn't died.

But what did that mean to him?

_Nothing. _Arthur said firmly to himself. _Nothing at all. _He'd thought whatever he'd thought about Francis because he'd believed Francis had died. Francis was his… friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

But he still had trouble sleeping.

* * *

Ivan felt the sleeping bag move and a warm body leave his side. He opened his eyes.

"Alfred, nyet. Come back to bed."

Alfred tried to ignore the peculiar flutter his heart made at the last statement, and he stood. "I have to check on Artie. He didn't look so good when he went to bed…"

"Nyet," Ivan repeated, patting the empty side of the sleeping bag. "You can check on him in the morning. You will freeze. To bed."

Alfred looked at him and gave a frustrated sigh. "All right. But first thing tomorrow morning. At the crack of dawn." And he crawled back into the sleeping bag.

Ivan chuckled. "Ah, Alfred is suggesting that he will wake up before noon? What an accomplishment that would be."

Alfred smiled in spite of himself, looking at him. "Yeah, smartass. It's gonna happen."

Ivan's smile disappeared, and he felt that urge again. He leaned down, capturing Alfred's lips in a soft kiss. Alfred, though surprised, reciprocated with equal gentleness. It was such an intimate moment, something that Ivan needed now, that he lost himself in it.

But he needed more.

His hand trailed down to the waistband of Alfred's pants, slipping it in to stroke his thigh. Alfred moaned into his mouth. Encouraged, Ivan trailed his fingers around to the heat between the American's legs…

And then Alfred seemed to wake from a dream, flinching and drawing quickly back from him. Ivan withdrew his hand, hurt and disappointed. He had been so close! He was going to try again, but the look on Alfred's face convinced him otherwise.

"I-I'm sorry, Ivan." Alfred said awkwardly. "But… I've got a lot on my mind, ya know? And after that thing with Francis… it just doesn't seem…"

"Like the right time." Ivan finished for him. "I know. I'm sorry."

Alfred relaxed noticeably. "Thanks. And don't be sorry." He leaned over to kiss him on the lips again. Ivan savored every moment of it. "We'll get there, and I'm just as eager as you. But just not now."

Ivan tried not to look too disappointed, so he gave a soft smile. "I understand."

They lay like that, staring at the roof of the tent in awkward silence. But Ivan had something on his mind that he had to address. He turned to look at Alfred and pulled him close. When Alfred moved his head to meet his eyes, Ivan kissed him on his chapped lips.

"What happened to Francis," Ivan began, staring seriously at Alfred. "I never want that to happen to you. I will never let that happen to you. And I will kill anyone who would even consider it."

Alfred just stared, not knowing what to say. It seemed strangely intimate, Ivan promising to kill for him. Though Alfred rightly knew it shouldn't come across that way, he was still moved by the words.

"I will do the same." Alfred replied, running his fingers through Ivan's ash-blond hair. The softness of it comforted him.

"Nyet," Ivan grabbed his wrist and lowered it. "You will not play hero. I have seen you piss the wrong people off and the consequences because of it. I will not have you put yourself in harm's way for me."

Alfred was embarrassed when he felt tears burn his eyes. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from Ivan's. He'd never seen him so sincere. "I've always wanted you to say that." Alfred muttered, surprised at himself. He was the hero, no one else. Especially not a former commie. But he began to realize how exhausted he was. Being a hero was hard, even for him. And in times like these, he could do with a break. But, until now, there had been no one willing or good enough by his standards to take his place.

And now Ivan was telling him everything was going to be okay. That he would take care of him. Alfred had never let anyone take care of him before. Not after Artie. He did it all himself and now…

He realized that he didn't have to do it alone.

Alfred scoffed at himself as tears ran down his cheeks, and he wiped at them, sniffing. "S-stupid. Dumbass tears…"

"Tears take away the pain, da?" Ivan said, leaning in to kiss them off his cheeks. Alfred's breath hitched, and he swore his heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected the Russian to be so sweet.

When Ivan pulled back, looking at him deeply and affectionately, Alfred couldn't keep the words from spilling from his mouth: "You don't know how much I want you."

Ivan chuckled as Alfred's face heated up and smiled. "I do know, Alfred." _I've been wanting you this whole time._

Alfred scoffed again and kissed him on the mouth, fingers once again threading through his hair. And he realized, _Oh my God. I don't want to die. Not now. Not when we've just gotten so close. I don't want to leave you, Ivan. _The reality of death was so stark now that Francis had miraculously returned from it, after Alfred had seen Matthew break down and become a hollow shell of a human being. Would Ivan do the same if Alfred died and never returned? Would Matthew and Arthur and everyone else who gave two shits about him walk around like souls in purgatory after he was gone? And it would be all his fault, _everything_ was his fault. No different now.

He snuffled and gave a half-laughing sob. "Mattie's mad at me. He's _pissed_." He looked up at Ivan, tears sliding down his cheeks with burning conviction. "I did it. Mattie's my brother, and I did it. I should have tried harder. I should have tried—"

Ivan shushed him and pulled him to his chest. "Matvey did not mean it. You know that. Go to sleep."

It wasn't exactly the most comfortable position (with Alfred's nose pressed into Ivan's chest), but it made Alfred feel safe and loved.

And his tired mind didn't need anymore encouragement to retire than that.

* * *

_Arthur opened his eyes._

_ And he immediately sat up. He was in a field. No sight of trees, shrub, sky, anything. Just an endless expanse of dry, stubby yellow grass. He looked up at the sky—or rather where the sky rightfully _should _be, but it was empty, hollow, gray. Dread filled him immediately, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He was dreaming again. And just like his others, this one would be a nightmare. And judging from the pattern of his dreams of late, it would be a great deal worse than those that came before it._

_ He was almost afraid to look down. But he did. And he deeply regretted it._

_ His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and he felt all the blood drain from his limbs. _

_ "Oh my God, no."_

_ Strewn around him in all sorts of grotesque positions, were his group. All lying motionless, pale, limbs twisted—like marionettes with their strings cut. The sight made all the breath go from him and tears spill from his eyes. _

_ "No," he said firmly. "No, it's just a dream. My dream. I can change it. I want them alive. Oh God, I need them alive." He closed his eyes, imagining the faces of the nations in his mind; happy, bright, living. But as soon as he got the picture in his head, it slipped away, turning to water between the groping fingers of his memory. And then all went dark in his head, and he couldn't open his eyes._

_ He was blind._

_ No, was trapped in his own head. Yes, that was it. Like that was any better than not being able to see…_

_ And then he _could_ see. It was like watching an old tape slide of what he perceived to be memories, zooming by until they slowed and he could make out what was happening._

_ It was him. He had a wild look in his eyes. His other self was standing over the sleeping body of Matthew. He raised a knife, plunging it into the sleeping bag. Blood sprayed and pooled, covered the blade, his face. What could only be Matthew's voice rose in a rasping, watery scream—an animalistic deflating balloon. And Arthur's twin turned to face him, a smile stretched on his face. A manic giggle spilled from his lips. Arthur couldn't breathe, his stomach roiling, as the tape sped up, and the murders continued, flying by speedily. All Arthur could see were the bodies and the bright red of their blood._

_ "No," Arthur screamed. "No! No! Stop it, goddammit! Stop!" He dug his fingers into his scalp and shook his head, gritting his teeth. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. "I'm in control! This is my mind, _mine_!"_

_ "Arthur,"_

_ Arthur turned and looked across the expanse of his mind to an illuminating light in the vast darkness. And he dropped to his knees and stared._

_ "Br-Britannia?"_

_ Britannia, his beautiful mother, held out her arms, beckoning. "Come here, my darling. Come to me."_

_ Arthur forgot his fear and anger and he surged forward, hugging her tightly. Her soft, golden curls stretched down to his nose, tickling it slightly. After all these years, he was still shorter than her. But that didn't matter. His mother was here, and he loved her, and she would always keep him safe, always, she'd promised him…_

_ "Oh, my little one." Britannia cooed in her comforting voice that felt like silk to Arthur's ears. "You're shaking, Arthur. Why are you so frightened, my love?"_

_ Arthur was about to explain when he felt something cold, wet, and wormlike slide over his ear. Confused, he looked up and screamed. _

_ Britannia was barely recognizable. A black tongue snaked out of her mouth, covering his face with slime. Her eyes were large, like an owl's, her cheekbones pronounced. Gray, melting skin stretched over her face, her nose peeling back to reveal the bone. She smiled as Arthur screamed and squirmed in her grasp, spiderlike hands digging claws into his flesh. She withdrew her tongue, hid it behind her sharp teeth, each one chiseled to a deadly point. _

_ "Why are you so frightened, Arthur, my love?" Britannia's voice was a hiss. "Don't be frightened, Mother is here, Mother will make it better."_

_ Arthur pushed her, kicked out, tried to get away. His stomach turned over when some of her melting skin spilled onto his chest. Her face was nothing but bone now._

_ "Let Mother show you what you want to see."_

_ And then he opened his eyes on the field again. For a moment, he was relieved… and then he peered down at his hand. In it was a knife, and it was covered with blood. All of him was covered in blood. Beside him, the limp body of Alfred lay, his entrails strewn across the ground. _

_ "Oh, oh, Christ," Arthur felt like he would retch. _

_ "Look at you, love." Britannia's voice was nowhere and everywhere at once. Inside his head, outside, flooding through him. "I am so happy you have found such a talent. Something you _love_."_

_ "Sick," Arthur said, flinging the knife away from him. He stood, staring down at the body, and then looked up to see the bodies piling up. Kiku, Francis, Matthew, Ivan, Sadiq, Feliciano…_

_ "Sick," Arthur repeated. "Fucking sick! Oh Jesus, oh God…" Tears wound their way down his face as his stomach did somersaults._

_ And then he was holding the knife again, and he shrieked with its reappearance. It was absolutely dripping with blood. No, _flowing _with it. Blood was pouring from the blade, onto his clothes, shoes, everywhere._

_ "You love it, darling, my _love_." Britannia hissed. "Now it's your turn."_

_ And his hand raised on its own. "What? Wait, stop!" The blade was at his throat in seconds. _

_ "Don't be frightened, little one." Britannia cooed in her sickly-sweet voice. "It will be such a release… you love it. You know you do. You love to kill, Arthur. You like seeing red."_

_ "No!" Arthur screamed, feeling the tip of the blade puncture him. "I don't! I never!"_

_ "Oh, but you do." He could feel the spider fingers on his shoulders, trailing down to his front. The tongue returned, swiping over his face, jabbing into his ear, picking his brain. "You let those boys die. Your crew, you watched them drown. You let your brothers die. Didn't I tell you to be nice to each other, Arthur, my love? Didn't I tell you to play nice?_

_ "Now it's your turn. Join the others. Let go, my darling. Let go." she hissed._

_ Arthur's scream turned to strained gurgles as the blade cut into his throat, all the way to his spine. Blood poured out of his mouth like a grotesque, bubbling waterfall._

_ Britannia laughed—a high ringing sound that crackled in the air. She licked up stray drops of blood from Arthur's face. _

_ "Such a good boy. Always my good boy._

_ "You will kill them all for Mother, won't you? My darling, my love, my sweet Arthur."_

Arthur kicked himself awake.

He opened his eyes and lay there, breaths heavy and heart pounding against his ribs. His whole body was shaking and he was covered with sweat. He lay there for a few minutes, struggling to calm himself down, staring at the tent roof. Finally, he found the will to move his head, though he was afraid of what he might see.

But it was only Sadiq, lying still and unconscious in his sleeping bag. He took a deep, shaky breath and looked up at the top of the tent again.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked quietly, tears flooding his eyes. "God, Mother, I miss you. I miss everyone." He cried and felt guilty. Guilty that he had portrayed his mother as such a horrible creature in his dreams. His dreams. The things he was supposed to control.

He lay there, crying quietly for some time before he felt his eyes sag with sleep. But he snapped them open. He couldn't fall asleep again. No, he couldn't. Because if he fell asleep, who knew what he would dream about?

But he _needed _sleep. The nightmares had been keeping him up, and for the past two days, Arthur had not slept for fear of the dreams or waking up to see everyone murdered by some psychotic maniac. And now his strength was waning because of it. He needed to be alert for his group. He needed to be strong for his group.

And then it came to him. He flew from his sleeping bag like a bat out of hell, rifling through his backpack and hoping to God he still had it. And then he found it. The dreamcatcher.

He slipped back into his sleepingbag. Sure, its powers might not exist, but then again, everyone had told him that magic wasn't real, and Arthur still used it. Perhaps this was real. It wasn't magic, but Arthur could feel some sort of energy pulse from it as he cradled it close to his chest. It warmed his hands, and he felt sleepier.

Within moments, he was fast asleep.

* * *

Gilbert couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he thought of Lovino, and how sleeping with him had betrayed Antonio.

He couldn't rest without answers. He needed to know why Lovino was avoiding him, why he had even wanted the sex. He made sure Ludwig was asleep before venturing out into the frigid night air. His breath misted in front of him as he made his way over to the Italies' tent.

He unzipped the flap and crawled inside as quietly as he could. Both of them were sleeping. It almost made him jealous and angry. How could Lovino be sleeping so soundly with what had happened between them, with how he had turned his back on Antonio? The Spaniard deserved better.

He moved over to Lovino and put a hand on his shoulder. Lovino cracked open his eyes, blinking groggily before feeling his hand and opening his mouth in what could only be in preparation for a shocked shout. But Gilbert quickly moved his hand from Lovino's shoulder, to his mouth. Lovino grumbled beneath the hand, his voice muffled, glaring.

"It's me," Gilbert whispered, and Lovino relaxed a bit, though his glare was just as fierce. "We need to talk. Outside?"

Lovino continued to glare at him and then sighed, nodding. Gilbert released his mouth and crawled out of the tent as Lovino tugged on a coat and then followed him out.

Gilbert was almost ashamed to look at Lovino, but he forced himself to. He had to resolve this. He had to make Lovino see how wrong it was, what happened between them.

"What the hell's going on?" he began, trying to keep his temper in check. "What was that back at the house? What about Toni? Don't you have a speck of loyalty in you?"

Lovino glared at him, and Gilbert stiffened. It looked like Lovino could punch him. "Loyalty? _Loyalty_? Who the fuck are you to talk to me about loyalty? You don't know anything about Toni and me! _Nothing_!"

Gilbert shushed him, and Lovino wanted to pound his face in. How could he not understand? "You don't know anything." Lovino repeated, though it was hard to keep his voice low. "You don't know what it's like to lose a lover. You think you do, but you don't. You don't know what it does to your mind. It's torture." His voice dropped as well as his gaze. "Torture. I thought about Toni every day after he died. Every _fucking _day. I thought about his face, his touch, his voice… and then I thought about the blood. How I saw his fucking brains smeared on the road, how I could have done something if I wouldn't have run. Sometimes I wonder why a goddamn coward like me was allowed to live and not Toni. Do you know how hard that is to live with?"

Gilbert was silent, speechless.

Lovino continued, "Soon it was just his death. I was seeing that shit every day, reliving it in my dreams. It haunted me, Gilbert. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Toni's dead face, and it ripped my fucking heart out. So _you_ tell me why I did it. Fucking tell me why I wanted to sleep with you. Do you think I _want _to go on feeling the way I do about Toni and not being able to fucking touch him or talk to him or just _see _him? Do you think I _like _knowing that I could have saved him, that I could have at least fucking _tried_?"

Gilbert was at a loss for words. He didn't know, how could he know, he didn't—

"You want to forget him." he realized. "How could you? Toni fucking _loved _you! And you want to throw all your memories about him away like you never even knew him?"

This time, Lovino did punch him. Right in the nose. Blood poured down Gilbert's chin.

"You still don't _fucking_ get it, do you, you goddamn bastard?!" Lovino's hissed voice seemed even more threatening than a shout. "He's fucking plaguing my mind. I can't just fucking sit around and grieve for him all the goddamn fucking time! I love him. Fuck, I love him. But his death is eating at my mind, and soon I'll go crazy… the only way to solve it, to fucking get rid of it, was to move on. And the only way I could do that was to fuck you."

Gilbert blinked in realization. "So… I'm a tool."

Lovino's fierce look suddenly disappeared. "No, you fucking helped me—"

"You don't have to explain." Gilbert cut him off, holding his bleeding nose. "I see how it fucking is. You want to get rid of your pain so badly that you're willing to give someone else grief. I see how it works." Gilbert began to walk back to his tent, furious.

"You don't fucking get it!" Lovino called after him. "You don't know what it's fucking like to have your heart ripped to pieces!"

Gilbert didn't turn back, only replied, "Ja, Lovino. I think I do."

He could feel Lovino's eyes on him as he disappeared into his tent.

* * *

Translations:  


Je t'aime aussi-I love you, too

A Word From the Writer: So, lots of stuff going on here. Canada coping with the fact that France was raped and he hadn't been able to do anything to prevent it, Russia wanting to be closer to America (i.e. he wants buttsecks) but the events that unfolded and America's pride block the way, Prussia trying to interpret his feelings for Romano, Romano realizing he's an asshole (you know, a bigger one than before, especially since he's hurt another asshole), and England having doubts about his true relationship with France and... some freaky nightmares going on. All the good stuff summed up and these are bound to make for some good plot, I can tell you. I'm not gonna go in depth, but I will tell you to pay attention to England's dreams. I used Britannia and gore for a reason, and it's not just paranoia.

And Romano finally got up the courage to punch someone! Unfortunately for him it was really the wrong time. Poor guy. :'(


	51. Too Many Walls

**Ladies and gentlemen, I present smutty Canada.  
**

Warning: Angst, tension, a little smut, drug use, shotgunning, mentioned masturbation.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Too Many Walls  
**

Matthew opened his eyes, scared that everything that happened yesterday was all a dream. Francis was dead, he'd just wanted him to be alive. He was so crazy with grief that he'd made up a fake scenario in his head of Francis returning…

But no. Francis was there, eyes closed, breathing shallow, arms wrapped around him…

With that goddamned collar and chain around his neck.

Matthew started to cry despite his want not to wake Francis. The Frenchman needed rest, but the collar, what it meant…

Francis's eyes flickered open at the sound of Matthew's quiet sobs. His heart ached. He'd seen his little one cry too much lately. He reached out and ran his fingers through Matthew's hair. "What is it, mon petit? Do not cry."

Matthew's eyes went to the collar. "I hate seeing that on you. I _hate_ it." And he dissolved to tears again.

"Oh, mon chou." Francis said, pulling Matthew to him. "It will be off soon. We can ask Ivan for help. I don't want it on either." Francis was in disbelief as well. Only a night ago, he'd been wandering around the woods, violated, lost, abandoned. And now he was in a tent with Matthew's arms around him. It seemed surreal.

_Should _he be dead? He was certainly close to it. If Matthew and Arthur hadn't given him the strength to fight back, if Peter's gun hadn't jammed…

No. He would never come that close to death again. For the Matthew's sake, he would not. It all seemed rigged in his mind, how he survived. Whatever the reason, he thanked God that he had been given a second chance. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he still had things he had to do.

The sounds of tent flaps unzipping reached their ears and Francis said, "Come on. We should get up before Arthur becomes impatient."

Matthew laughed and wiped at his eyes, sniffing a little. "Y-yeah, we probably should…"

Within minutes, they were standing in the camp, waiting for the other nations to get up. It was awkward, being among them all and remembering what happened yesterday. Whenever Matthew so much as glanced at someone, they would quickly look away as if they were afraid of offending him. Well, Matthew figured, it was only expected. After his break down the night before, it was only natural that they all felt uncomfortable around him.

But the most uncomfortable of all was Alfred. He stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. He had stayed true to his word and gotten up before everyone else to check on Arthur, though he could barely get but a handful of vague and distant replies out of the man that only managed to deepen his concern. Everyone who got out of their tents looked at him in surprise for being one of the first ones up, and that didn't count Matthew out. Occasionally, he lifted his head to look at the Canadian, and when their eyes met, he looked back at the ground again. Matthew felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't meant to make Alfred feel guilty about what had happened to Francis. After a good night's rest and thinking how lucky it was that Francis was still alive, Matthew had come to his senses. At the moment, it'd felt right to yell at Alfred and everyone else who'd promised to rescue Francis. It had felt right to make them hurt. It was only fair, as Francis had been hurt, though a great deal worse. But now Matthew was realizing that he couldn't push them away. They all needed to be close in order to survive this. And Matthew especially didn't want Alfred to think that he hated him.

But Matthew couldn't tell him that. At least not now. The real focus of today was to get as far away from civilization as possible. And Arthur was readying himself to speak.

"So," the Briton began, unsure of where to start. Even after he had taken to holding the dream catcher the night before, the nightmare still left him incredibly drained and dejected. It seemed that the responsibility as leader had been thrust upon him, but at the same time his own mind was working against him. But that was no excuse. Silly nightmares were never an excuse to not do what had to be done. "We are a few miles from the town, but that doesn't guarantee that we are out of harm's way. Wynston has told me that the plains are our safest bet at the moment, and if we linger here too long we may be stuck out there with the snow and nothing else to keep us company. Whatever it takes, we must reach the south by November. It is currently the first week of October. We have a couple of weeks. I have discussed it with Wynston, and he says the best way for us to go is east and then south. That being said, we will angle west toward Nebraska, going southwest through Kansas to reach the Mississippi. We will then follow the river down to where it empties into the ocean in Louisiana. There we can stay until winter blows over."

"Wait a second." Alfred said. "What about those fuckers at the capital? Are we just gonna let them sit there and keep sending more guys after us? For months?" Sure, Alfred had expressed a great need to flee to the south the day before, but after mulling it over he had convinced himself that this issue needed to be resolved as quickly as possible. That and he was incredibly impatient.

Arthur blinked at him, noticing his change in opinion but not feeling up to addressing it. Instead he sighed. "Alfred, our priority at the moment is to stay alive and together. That means getting out of the cold."

Alfred glared. "So, staying alive and together doesn't tie in at all with overthrowing the bastards who wanna kill us?"

Arthur frowned. "Alfred, we haven't even planned that far ahe—"

"There's no need for planning!" Alfred snapped. "We've wandered around and let the Organization torment us for too long. Look at what happened to Francis. Next time, it could be anyone, and they might not be so lucky as to return."

"I will not let you subject this group to your need for vengeance, Alfred." Arthur snapped.

"But it's not just _my_ vengeance!" Alfred shouted, hands now out of his pockets and balled into fists. "And it's not just my capital. The Organization represents every usurper in every country. If we get rid of this one, then maybe we can—"

"You never _think_, Alfred!" Arthur barked sharply. "You are rushing into things you haven't even planned all the goddamn time, and, so help me, I will _not _let everyone else be thrown into danger to satisfy your need for justice!"

"We've been in danger this whole fucking time!" Alfred growled. "Open your fucking eyes, Art! If we go with your plan, then I guarantee you not one of us will even make it close to Louisiana!"

"You haven't even considered—"

"No, _you _haven't considered!" Alfred flashed back. "Don't you understand? If we go south, we'll be warm, yes, but at what cost? The Organization knows how powerful our influences can be, and they'll hunt us down like foxhounds! We've had too many encounters with them to declare that we can outrun them. You heard Higgins! They have eyes everywhere. There is no hiding."

Arthur was seething, but he fought to keep his voice calm. "Alfred," he said through clenched teeth. "What makes you think it will be any safer going _directly _into the capital without any plan whatsoever or any idea how big a force this Organization has?"

"We have time. Weeks. We can plan on the run."

Arthur blinked at him, and his anger finally boiled over. "You have learned _nothing_! You're so selfish, Alfred. I can't believe you'd risk all our lives to kill just one of these men. You know what I think? If you want it so much, why don't you just do it on your own?"

Alfred blinked in shock and Arthur processed his words. "Alfred, I didn't mean—"

"No, I know what you mean." Alfred said. "I'm the problem. I should just leave so I won't bother you."

Ivan was alarmed at this. Had Alfred forgotten about him? Would he just leave without the person who'd said they loved him? But he watched as Alfred ducked into his tent, bringing out his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He opened his mouth to convince Alfred to stay, but Matthew beat him to it.

"No," he said, darting forward. "Don't leave, Al. He didn't mean it."

"What do _you_ want?" Alfred asked with spite. "To blame me for something else? Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore, 'cause I'm tired of taking all the crap. You guys are hopeless. We can't just run around the problem. But if everyone else is going to do that, fine. I'll just have to take care of it myself. You can thank me later."

"No, Alfred, _please_." Matthew snagged his brother's sleeve, but Alfred jerked out of his grip. The Canadian's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Al. It's not your fault what happened to Francis. I was stupid. I didn't know what I was saying, and I'm sorry it hurt you. But you can't leave. I just got Francis back!"

"Pa," Wynston muttered. "I understand what you're sayin', but… we have our own worries. Please, let's just tend to the group first an' discuss it before goin' headlong inta somethin', 'kay? If you wanna go, I'll go with ya. But I won't be happy that you're leavin' everyone else behind. We all have a purpose in this group. We depend on each other."

Alfred stared at him, completely ignoring Matthew, and sighed. "Wynston, I don't want you to come with me."

Wynston shook his head. "Ya know ya can't get rida me that easy, old man."

Alfred took a deep breath and exhaled. "Fine. I'll stay. Only because I know you'll follow me."

Wynston smiled. "We'll talk about it, Pa. I'll make sure of it."

"Yeah, right." Alfred said skeptically, setting his backpack down. Matthew was still looking at him, still beside him, but the American ignored him. It hurt Matthew more than he could say. He hated being ignored. It made him feel worthless.

Arthur found his voice. "Alfred, I'm so sorry—"

"We're wasting time." Alfred said rather bitterly.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Right. So, er, let's have a quick breakfast and move on. We're heading south." Then he added after some thought. "And when we make camp next, we'll discuss retaking the capital."

* * *

They had a small meal of canned fruit before abandoning the camp. Although the immediate problems had been somewhat dissolved, the tension between them was still palpable.

No one talked, and when they did, it was in whispers shared between two people. They had been growing more and more quiet throughout the last few days, and Arthur didn't like it. The less they talked, the less they had frivolous conversation, the more they became isolated from each other and more focused on their own hurts. Everyone seemed to be dealing with their own issues: Arthur with his nightmares and the huge responsibility for the group's welfare; Alfred with his burning need for vengeance, his internal clock ticking ever more loudly for him to act, and his mental struggle over protecting his children or putting himself in harm's way to protect his group while putting the lives of his children in danger; Francis with his rape and near-death experience; Matthew with Alfred ignoring him and his instability that had been brought about with Francis's supposed death; Ivan with Alfred pushing him away subconsciously even though he wanted so much for them to be close; Ludwig with being the rock for his brother and Feliciano; Kiku with his doubt about his abilities to keep everyone safe; Yao with his worry that they all may not be prepared for what was coming, that they would die soon no matter how much they knew and there was little to nothing they could do about it; Gilbert with being used and rejected by Lovino and his betrayal of Antonio; Lovino with his toil over his dead lover and a new one he did not want to admit to; Sadiq with his injury and fear of illness again; Feliciano with his constant fear and worry, with his brother refusing to talk to him about his troubles; Wynston with the weight of leading the group through his state without trouble, without leading them to another safehouse that was anything but, and still quietly mourning over the loss of his sister. Everyone was in their own little world of torment, and by refusing to share or discuss their problems with everyone else, they were beginning to fall apart.

Like puzzle pieces that become lost over time.

Still, no matter how much it annoyed Arthur and made everyone else uncomfortable, no one broke the unannounced 'code of silence.' They trudged on through the forest, and whenever they came upon a town, they stopped, regrouped, and changed directions. They avoided towns like the plague.

Francis's mind was a roil. The convicts. The rape. The sound of the gun going off next to his ear, yet still being alive. The sight of Matthew so broken when he returned. It was all whirling around in his head, and he wished he could talk to someone, anyone, just make simple conversation so that he could forget about it all. But no one was willing to talk. It was so quiet, and it was driving him mad.

A voice next to his ear, startled him. "I didn't get a chance to tell you how happy I am that you're alive."

Francis turned to see Gilbert, walking alongside him with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. The Frenchman smiled. "I am, too."

"How's your neck doing? Still unawesome?"

Francis reached up and rubbed the spot where his collar had been before Kiku had picked the lock. There were obvious red rings of raw skin where he had struggled against the metal. But he was fine with it. All that mattered was that he didn't have the disgusting restraint around him any longer, that at least something from his traumatic experience was gone, no matter if he still had the horrible, recurring memories to remind him. "Ouais. But I can live with it. I mean, I almost didn't at all."

Gilbert swallowed dryly. "Ja…"

And just like that, their conversation was through, Gilbert slowly drifting away from him to walk beside his brother.

* * *

They didn't see much along their hike except for a few startled deer and a couple of chattering squirrels who chased each other through the trees, scattering leaves and other debris over their heads.

They reached the edge of the treeline just before sunset. After this small copse of trees which Wynston instructed them to make camp beneath, there would be nothing before them but flat, open grassland.

_So, _Francis mused. _we have arrived at the prairie. Never have I felt more apprehension about anything with a name derived from my language._

They made a fire and set up camp, all speaking as little as possible to each other. It wasn't that they didn't want to, but not knowing how. What _could _they talk about? Oh, hey, at least no one died today. Yeah, that would make for good conversation.

Soon, they were all seated around the fire, keeping close to each other to conserve warmth. It had to be at least fourteen degrees farenheit. Thank God they had all thought to prepare for months on the run. They had ample winter wear, but it was too light to protect from constant exposure to wind and snow. The heavy clothes would not have fit in their packs.

They ate again, going through the cans they had managed to pack in silence. When they were finished, they just sat there, wrapped up in their sleeping bags, staring myopically at the fire.

Arthur couldn't take the silence and cleared his throat. Everyone jumped. "Er, so, the Organization…" When no one said anything, he looked at Alfred. "I presume you have a plan?"

Alfred nodded and pulled his sleeping bag more tightly around him. "Yeah… thinking we should snag one of their members or cohorts or whatever and force the information out of them. We don't know how big the Organization is, but we know that they're big enough to broadcast over a radio and that they have enough power behind them to be a governmental body. And navigating through the capital would be risky. All open space… they are bound to have scouts everywhere. But who knows where their HQ is? They could be in the White House, but judging from their hatred for the old government, I don't think they would take that up as their roost."

"But we will have to go to cities to find the members." Kiku said.

"No. We won't have to." Alfred said grimly. "They'll find us. They're bound to find us sometime."

The words settled into them like ice through their veins, and no one said a word for a long time.

They watched the sun set through the trees and the stars come out. Without so much as 'goodnight', they all eventually made their ways back to their tents. Except for Alfred. Ivan watched worriedly as he wandered off through the trees, but he felt better when he saw that Matthew was going off to join him. Perhaps the brothers would talk and make up? The Russian hoped so, because he wanted Alfred to stop worrying about everything and come back to him.

Matthew noticed Alfred going off into the woods and followed. He was determined to let Alfred know that he was sorry. He didn't think he could get that through to the American's brain if everyone else was around. Alfred always put up barriers when other people were around, but alone… what he was really feeling inside could be coaxed out.

He found Alfred sitting in a little clearing, staring up at the moon. He didn't notice Matthew until he was standing right behind him. The American startled and whipped his head around… only to scoff and go back to looking at the moon. "Not now, Mattie. I just wanna be alone and think."

"Then let me think with you. You don't have to be alone, Al." And Matthew sat down next to Alfred. The American gave an annoyed huff.

"Al," Matthew said after a while. "You know I'm sorry, right?"

Alfred sighed. "Not this shit again. You already said that."

"I know, but I don't know if you accepted my apology."

Alfred was silent for a moment, and Matthew chewed his bottom lip. Then he said, "Yeah, Mattie. You know I can't stay mad at you for long."

Matthew chuckled a bit, then said, longing to talk to someone about his troubles, "I could barely sleep last night."

"Me neither. Though I doubt anyone got a good night's sleep judging by their eyes. Bloodshot or sunken, most of them." Then he added curiously and with some concern, "Why'd you have trouble?"

Matthew took a deep breath. "Francis. I was near him the whole night, but I kept dreaming that he'd died. I kept reliving his burial." He looked at Alfred. "I never want to see him buried again, Al. I don't want to see any of us buried."

Alfred met his eyes. "He was never truly buried, Mattie."

"I didn't know that for a good two days. And it did something to me. That breakdown I had… yeah, well, I don't even think I scratched the surface of how far my grief could go. If something were to happen, something bad, then I would…" He paused to swallow. "I don't know what I would do, Al. And it scares me."

Alfred put an arm around Matthew's waist, pulling him close. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Matthew smiled at the security and sighed. "I just… I'm really uptight right now. I think… I think that if I smoked some pot, I would relax a bit more. Get some sleep." He looked at Alfred. "I saw you had some. I smoked all mine in a panic before fleeing my country."

Alfred chuckled and searched his pockets. "I was wondering when you'd hit me up about that… now that I think about it, I need some, too." He produced a pack from his pocket and slipped two rolls out, handing one to Matthew. He lit his with a lighter, and Matthew kissed his end to Alfred's to light his own. They were silent as they took the first few pulls, enjoying how the weed cleared their minds of worry and doubt.

Sure, Alfred had claimed he hated smoking… and drugs. But that seemed ages ago, and now he just needed something to calm his frayed nerves. Yeah, just something soothing. They weren't getting high or anything, just blowing off some steam. Alfred kept telling himself that as he raised the toke to his lips and inhaled.

And then Alfred was laughing.

"What is it, eh?"

"Heh, nothin'. Just remembering how I puked when I first did this."

"Puked? Jesus, Al, what did you do, make a weed milkshake?"

"Milkshake? Nah… I made a cake."

"No," Matthew said in disbelief. Imagining Alfred baking was one thing, but Alfred baking a _weed cake_? He hardly knew why Alfred always bothered him about smoking the stuff if he went to such extremes himself.

"Yup." He took another drag and exhaled through his nose. "It had weed frosting, too. And… hehe, get this… Artie was coming over and I didn't want him to have any, 'cause you know how nosy he is about the stuff in my fridge, nagging me over my weight and all, pshh… so, I fuckin' ate all of it in ten minutes!"

"Al, that's not healthy…"

"Do I _look _like I care about that shit?"

Matthew chuckled and sighed. The high he was getting was almost sensual. "Never have, and I doubt you ever will."

"Got that shit right."

Matthew didn't know what made him say it, nor did he care. "You know, I haven't had stoned sex in a while."

Alfred smirked. "What are you implying?"

"Oh, I'm implying?" Matthew said mischievously. "Forgive me, allow me to be forward." He pushed Alfred down onto the grass, toke still balanced between his fingers. Like hell he was going to waste that wondrous little piece of heaven. Alfred's eyes narrowed as Matthew straddled him.

"Oh, well this is a surprise."

"Are you complaining?" Matthew smirked as he took another pull of his joint and bent down to kiss Alfred. They exchanged the smoke, Alfred inhaling it before breathing it out slowly. The American felt his mind go dizzy for a second.

"Whoa, dude, that was just… wow."

Matthew smiled at the compliment. "Just don't puke, eh? I'm not nearly finished yet." And he kissed his way down Alfred's neck. Oh God, he'd truly missed the feel of Alfred's skin. It had been so long… but there was a nagging in the back of his head, something telling him that he shouldn't be doing this. His mind was too muddled to explore why, so he continued, sucking at the junction between Alfred's neck and collarbone. Alfred squirmed below him, and Matthew could feel something hard and hot pressing into his thigh.

"Mmm, someone feels excited." Matthew's hand trailed down to snake into Alfred's pants and underwear. But as soon as his fingers brushed against Alfred's swelling cock, the American jerked and wriggled away from him. Startled, Matthew pulled his hand out, falling back onto the grass and dropping his toke. "Fuck," he muttered, hurrying to snuff the flame before it spread to the grass. He looked up at Alfred, who was standing, having disposed of his own joint. He was breathing hard and looking ashamed.

"Al, what the hell—?"

"I'm sorry, Mattie." Alfred said quickly before rushing off back to camp.

Matthew grumbled in aggravation to himself. He could really do with a good fucking. But then he remembered the reason why he couldn't have sex with Alfred. That time at the 'safehouse' when Matthew had been listening secretly…

Oh shit. Ivan.

Thank God Alfred had stopped him when he did, or else Ivan would have surely found out (in whatever way he did, because the Russian always knew), and Matthew would be nothing but a pile of dust.

Pain pulsed from his crotch. Great. Blueballs. He couldn't go back to his tent and jerk off. Sadiq would hear him and he'd have quite a mess to clean.

Matthew sighed. "Guess stoned masturbation will have to do." And he slid his hand into his pants.

* * *

Translations:  


_Mon petit-_My little one

_Mon chou_-My darling

A Word From the Writer: Ah, damn. No sexy Canada jerking off? Well, shit. As much as I love writing solos, unless it involves bonding or drama or action or death, I'm gonna skip over it (as much as a regret it). And, yeah, I was originally planning on this story being much longer with the plot revolving around their journey to the south and back up to D.C. But I figured it wouldn't make much sense if the world was sinking deeper into shit every day (that and I got bored), so we are now facing winter. Thankfully, there will be no white walkers to deal with. I'm sorry. I'm such a Game of Thrones geek.

"Too Many Walls." Yeah, right. Try a bigass fucking wall with all sorts of crazy shit on the other side. _Then _you'd want a wall. *shot*


	52. Give

**Prepare to cry from purely beautiful fluff.  
**

Warning: Lemon, fluff (not telling who), character death, masturbation, angst.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Give**

Arthur was curled up in his sleeping bag with the dream catcher against his chest when he felt something move next to him.

"Francis?"

"Oui?"

"I thought we previously discussed this. This is _my _side of the tent and that side over there is _your_ side."

Francis sighed. "I cannot sleep."

"What for?"

"Bad memories."

Arthur stiffened, feeling like an asshole. "I'm sorry, Francis."

"No need. But I just wish…" Francis felt tears flooding his eyes. "I wish I still didn't feel them… _in _me." And he started to openly sob.

Arthur was at a loss of what to do. He had never been in a position where Francis had come to him for help. Well… maybe once with that marriage proposal thing, but he wasn't having a complete mental breakdown then.

Arthur sighed and turned over. Francis had his face in his hands. For the first time in Arthur's life, he felt sorry for Francis.

"Francis,"

The man stopped crying a little and took his hands from his face. It was red and his eyes were hazy with tears. He sniffed. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I just… I'm sorry for disturbing you. You should rest—"

"No," Arthur said, looking at him. "I'm sorry for what they did to you. No one deserves that." Then he added with a bit of hesitation. "If there's anything I can do to help…"

Francis blinked at him, surprised to hear Arthur offering him help. Tears pulled at his eyes again. "I can still feel them… each and every one of them." He gave a sob. "I don't want to feel it anymore, Arthur. I can't stand it. I don't think I can… I can…" He calmed himself, taking a deep breath before continuing, "It's better during the day. I don't think about it as much. But at night… when I sleep, I remember. It's as clear in my mind as when it happened… everything… I feel everything… it hurts, I hate it, I hate it." He lost himself in his tears again, miserable.

Arthur felt his heart break for Francis. His sobs were hollow and desperate… the cries of a broken man. He took Francis's hands in his and held them, knowing he would have wanted someone to do the same for him if he was in a similar state.

"What do you want me to do, Francis?"

Francis sniffed and took a few more deep breaths before staring directly at him and saying, "Arthur, I don't want to feel them anymore. I need something else… I want to feel something else. Something that won't hurt me when I remember…" His eyes stung, fearing rejection. He couldn't sleep like this. He feared that he would go crazy with the memories. His voice caught in his throat, and he hoped Arthur could understand what he was asking of him.

It took a few moments for Arthur to process Francis's words, but when he did, he came to only one, unbelievable conclusion. "You… you want me to… fuck you?"

Francis winced at the term. "No, not that. They said that all the time… that's all they did, there was no…" He shook his head and squeezed Arthur's hands. "Non, Arthur, I want you to make love to me." Arthur's heart started to pound. Francis, who had always boasted about being the best in bed, was wanting Arthur to make love to _him_? "Please. Take the filth away, Arthur. I… I don't think I can ask anyone else… they wouldn't think it right to… please, Arthur, I don't want to feel it anymore. I don't want to feel it!"

He began to cry again. He knew Arthur would reject him. Arthur hated him. Arthur had _always _hated him. There was no way he would _ever_…

Arthur wriggled out of his sleeping bag and slipped into Francis's. The Frenchman's breath caught as Arthur straddled him.

"W-what? Arthur, you're—"

"Making love to you?" the Briton replied, still getting over the initial shock of the words. "Yes,"

Arthur didn't think what Francis wanted was such a big deal. Arthur was topping, and it seemed right that Francis should want this. And it was only fair that Arthur give it him, he'd been through so much. They did, after all, share a tent. There were other reasons, too, reasons Arthur wasn't yet ready to acknowledge, so he banished the thoughts by pressing his lips to Francis's.

Francis felt his heart skip a beat, and he kissed back, parting his lips to let Arthur's tongue slip in. Fingers threaded through his hair, drawing him close, and Francis was afraid to touch Arthur, afraid that all of this may be some cruel illusion fabricated by his turbulent mind.

But it wasn't fake. It was happening, and Francis could scarcely believe it. His hands trailed up until his arms were wrapped around Arthur's neck.

The Briton's lips moved from Francis's mouth to his neck, gently teasing the skin there, trying to avoid the scars left from the collar. As Francis squirmed and moaned beneath him, Arthur felt his cock slowly harden. He needed this. Just as much as Francis. All of the stress about leading the group and the nightmares… he needed a release, and Francis offered it.

Arthur's hands trailed up Francis's sweater (well, technically Matthew's), and Francis lifted his arms so that it could be pulled off of him. The Briton pulled back to examine Francis's chest, and he felt his stomach roil.

The Frenchman's torso was covered in scars and bruises ranging in color from dark blue to a sickly yellow. Arthur could see the imprint of hands, little crescent-shaped scars that were fingernails digging into flesh. Small circles of burnt skin dotted Francis's chest.

"Christ, Francis," Arthur breathed, brushing a thumb over one of the burns. Francis bit his lip and grunted. _Jesus, they put cigarettes out on him. _He shook his head. "My God, why didn't you—?"

"I didn't want anyone to worry." Francis replied. "I'm fine, really. They are not that bad…"

"But they are, Francis." Arthur insisted, guilt coiling in his gut. "I'm so sorry. Matthew was right. We should have gotten there sooner. Maybe then this would never have—"

Francis brought his hands up to hold Arthur's face. "None of this is your fault, cher. It was an unfortunate event that no one was expecting. I do not want anyone to take the blame for what happened to me. Especially you."

Arthur blinked. "Why me?" The question was barely a whisper, but Arthur already knew what the answer would be.

Francis smiled a little. "Parce-que je t'aime, Arthur. J'ai depuis longtemps, mais tu lui n'as pas vu."

Arthur felt his face grow hot as he translated. He ran the words through his brain many times, not believing what he was hearing, but the words came out the same every time he did so: _Because I love you, Arthur. I have for a long time, but you have not seen it._

He stared, his words stuck in his throat, his heart hammering in his chest. Below him, Francis was afraid that he had said too much, that Arthur would stop and reject him. He couldn't stand that, not now, not when he had poured his heart out and Arthur was this close.

"Please," Francis said, holding out his arms. "Please, Arthur."

Arthur felt his heart go out to Francis, and he bent down into his arms. They wrapped around his shoulders, and Arthur's lips were against Francis's scarred neck.

"Non, j'ai lui vu." Francis stiffened in surprise as Arthur muttered French into his ear. "Mais je ne voulais pas y croire."

"Pourquoi?" Francis whispered, scarcely believing his ears.

Arthur chuckled. "Je suis anglais."

Francis smiled. Then Arthur drew back and stared at him. "Are you sure you want this? It might be too soon…"

"Non," Francis snapped, bringing Arthur's face close to his own. "You have made me wait long enough, cher. Don't you dare make me wait any longer."

Arthur gave him a little smile and kissed him again. The disbelief at what he was doing was gone. All he knew was that Francis needed him, and he would do everything in his power to make him forget his horrendous experience.

Arthur's fingers trailed lightly down Francis's body, being sure to avoid the fresh injuries and to be gentle when he touched him. He didn't think anyone with so many hurts could feel pleasure from touching, so he was surprised when Francis emitted a content sigh. He took that as encouragement to move lower, and he bit his lip when he hooked his fingers into Francis's pants.

"Do it," Francis breathed, and Arthur pushed down the Frenchman's pants and underwear. His fingers brushed over Francis's heated erection. Below him, Francis moaned. Arthur then pulled Francis shirt over his head. He sat back, looking over his nude body. Sure, he had seen it before, but now… now he was looking at it with other plans in mind.

He took off his own shirt and shrugged out of his pants and underwear. He then stretched out over Francis, his breath hitching as their skin touched with a burst of heat. Francis's arms went around him. Fingers dug into his skin as Francis rolled his hips against him. Arthur felt his own cock swell.

His lips brushed against Francis's ear. "Preparation?"

"Non," Francis replied, pulling Arthur close to him so that they lay chest-to-chest. He needed them to be as close as possible. He craved the security he felt when Arthur's skin was pressing against his own. "Non, I do not need it."

Arthur pulled back, balancing on his elbows, giving him a worried look. "But… Francis, it will hurt." He spat in his hand, lubing his cock, not caring what Francis said. He wanted there to be at least _some_ level of comfort.

Francis gave him a sad smile. "Nothing I haven't already felt, cher."

Arthur felt tears tug at his eyes. Francis's expression was so forlorn, his eyes so… _empty_. God, it really had been his fault. Arthur was supposed to be leading the group. And he led them right into a trap, that fucking safehouse… He was determined not to let Francis see him cry. He didn't deserve to cry in front of Francis like something was hurting him when Francis had been hurt more than he could even fathom. He buried his face in Francis's neck and fought to keep his voice steady.

"Oh, Francis, I'm sorry." He lined himself up and pushed in, feeling sick. He was no better than those men who had fucked Francis so cruelly without pause or care for his well-being…

But Francis clung to him, though, and that was enough for Arthur to keep going. "Non, non, cher. Don't be, ah, sorry…"

Arthur didn't respond, too caught up in feeling Francis's torn insides against his cock. And, suddenly, he was rethinking this. It didn't feel right to subject Francis to this while his wounds were still raw and the memories still fresh. But Francis wouldn't let him go, his fingers digging into his skin, and he was moaning his name as he slid home, "Arthur… oh, Angleterre…"

"Francis," Arthur murmured, kissing him gently and stilling inside him. "Are you okay?"

"Oui," Francis replied, moving his hips against him. "And I am ready. Please, move."

Arthur took a deep breath and did so, trying not to feel disgusted with himself as he pulled out and pushed back in. Francis let out a soft moan below him, though Arthur could tell the man was trying to hide his discomfort. "Francis, we don't have to do this. Not now… later…"

"No!" Francis hissed, hugging Arthur tightly to him. "I won't bear it if we stop now. Please, Arthur, don't leave me." _Don't leave me like I thought you did. _Francis bit his lip. Nails dug into Arthur's skin.

Arthur felt an urge to hold Francis, and he did. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling Francis up so that he sat on his lap. He hugged Francis close to him, face in his shoulder. "I would never leave you like this, Francis." Then he added more quietly, "But I don't want to hurt you."

"You could never hurt me, amour." Francis assured. "I need this… I don't care if it rips me apart, I can't stand the feel of them anymore. I need this, please…"

Arthur began to move. Francis clawed at Arthur's back, pain and pleasure surging through him at once and moans falling from his lips. Arthur kept going, despite how horrible it made him feel, but he wanted Francis to feel better, and that was all that mattered to him at the moment.

It hurt him. Arthur hurt him, and it made Francis feel sick. He hated those men who did this to him. Who'd tore him up inside so that it hurt when Arthur made love to him. They took everything. It wasn't fair. But Francis was determined to get something back, so he rolled his hips in rhythm with Arthur's thrusts, bouncing on his lap, nose buried in Arthur's hair, taking in the scent of the man he loved so that he knew it hurt for a reason.

Arthur was giving him back what security had been taken from him.

Arthur's hand moved between them, stroking Francis's cock to hardness and more. Hot tears were rolling down Francis's face with the pain, but he came, and he came because of Arthur, and that was enough for him. And when Arthur started to move away from him, wanting to pull out, Francis held onto him for dear life and said, "N-no, Arthur. Please, wash it away. I want it all gone, _please_." Then he added, his voice barely a whisper, "I want you and only you, Arthur."

Arthur felt tears spring to his eyes and with one last thrust, he filled Francis with his essence. "Francis," He held the man tightly to him. Oh God. Had it taken this long, what had happened to Francis, for Arthur to realize that he couldn't live without him?

Arthur laid Francis gently down in the sleeping bag and pulled out of him. He hovered over him, kissing him. "I love you, Francis." It surprised him that the words didn't sound at all foreign.

Francis smiled happily and gave a soft sob. "I know, cher."

And they fell asleep like that, intertwined body and soul.

* * *

_She was breathing hard. She had been running for hours on end, trying to lose her persuers. But it was gradually coming to light that her efforts were useless. The men kept catching up, and now they almost had her._

_ But she refused to go down without a fight. This was _her _nation, and hell if she was just going to roll over and expose her belly to the enemy without so much as a challenge._

_ She couldn't run anymore. Her strength was waning and her legs were cramping. Pretty soon, she wouldn't be able to even move. She had been on the run for five days straight. No sleep. No rest. Barely any food and water. She was dying, but she refused to believe it._

_ So she sat there, crouched behind an overflowing dumpster, hoping that its foul stench would drive away the men chasing her. But it was no use. The men rounded the corner of the alley and walked slowly down it, eyes searching every crevice for her, guns cocked in their hands._

_ "Where are you, you persistent little bitch?"_

_ "Yeah, aren't you tired? Come out so that we can put you to sleep for good."_

_ She smiled in satisfaction as the moon lit up one of the men's faces; a long red scar crossed from his forehead, across his nose, and to his jaw—a little gift she had given him when he'd last had her cornered. But she had no knife now. She'd lost it in her haste when the men had ambushed her back at her safehouse. _

_ The men were almost u[on her, and it became clear in her mind that this time she wouldn't be able to fight them. She was too weak. The thought sickened and ashamed her, and she quickly stood, the men shouting out as she threw open a nearby door and darted into it. A bullet nicked the wood as she pulled it shut behind her. She would have loved to lock it but the bolt was rusted and fell right off as soon as she touched it. So she turned on her heel and ran up the stairs._

_ She was halfway up when the door burst open, making her stumble in surprise, the men charging through and taking a moment to look around before spotting her and rushing to follow her._

_ "Stop right there, bitch!" one man yelled, and when she didn't, he shot._

_ She gave a gasping grunt and heaved forward, colliding with the steps. She groaned in pain as she clutched her bleeding thigh, knocking her head on a wooden stair. The men ran up to her and pointed their weapons down at her. When it became clear that she was too busy dealing with her injury to respond, one snatched her up by her hair and pulled her so that her face was inches from his. She could smell his sour breath, see the ragged skin of his scar._

_ "Tell us where they are."_

_ She glared at him. The man tugged harshly on her hair before repeating, "Tell us where they are, bitch!"_

_ Her only response was spitting a glob of bloody saliva onto his face. _

_ The man fumed and pistol whipped her. She bit her lip in two trying not to cry out as she felt blood pour down the side of her face and she fell on the stairs again. She wouldn't give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing her scream and beg._

_ "Now," the man said, pressing the barrel of his gun to her forehead. "Are you gonna tell us, or should we convince you some more?"_

_ She laughed. It was a hysterical laugh, a maniacal laugh, a laugh that scared the shit out of her. The laugh of a dead woman. "You bastards think you're gonna get anything out of me? Fuck that!" Then she added in a deadly tone, glaring at them with all her might. "You won't get a word out of me. Do whatever you like, but I'm not telling shit to you."_

_ The other man looked at the one holding the gun to her head. "What're we gonna do with her?"_

_ "She'll be too much of a nuisance to take captive."_

_ "But, Boss said that he doesn't want them—"_

_ "I don't care what the goddamn boss says!" He looked back at the girl. "Let's get rid of her."_

_ The other man looked shocked and frightful. "B-but what're we going to tell Boss?"_

_ "Tell 'im we found her dead."_

_ "And what about her body?"_

_ "The dogs got to her before we could." Then he smirked down at her. "You gave us a good run, girl. I would say that we had a good time, but then again I don't compliment scum. Any last words?"_

_ Knowing that her death was near, the girl lifted her chin and smiled. Blood turned her teeth a grotesque red from her bleeding lip. _

_ "__I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country."_

_ No sign of recognition passed behind the gunman's eyes, and the girl almost pitied him as a bullet ripped through her skull._

* * *

Alfred woke up, screaming.

Ivan's eyes snapped open and he sat up, looking around in shock. Alfred had crawled out of their sleeping bag and was curled up in a ball on the other side of the tent, clutching his chest and gasping. Panicked, the Russian rushed over, grabbing hold of him.

"Alfred? What is wrong?"

But Alfred pushed him away, whimpering and yelping in pain. His fingers dug into his chest, as if trying to rip it open. Horrified, Ivan took hold of Alfred's wrist and pulled. It took a while and a great deal of strength, but the hand eventually came free.

Ivan's stomach turned over. Blood oozed out of a deep cut just above Alfred's heart. Ivan wanted to examine it more, but Alfred's hands darted to it again and he thrashed about so much that Ivan had to move away or risk being kicked.

"It hurts!" Alfred shrieked. "It hurts! It hurts!"

"Alfred, be still!" Ivan said, diving in and pinning his legs down. He straddled the man's abdomen, catching his arms and holding them down. Alfred's head snapped side to side. His eyes were glazed over, wide like a startled horse's, and Ivan feared that he had lost touch with reality.

"Alfred!" Ivan shouted, but the man did not respond, still trying to get out from under him. "Alfred! Stop moving! Look at me!"

"What the bloody hell's going on in there?" Arthur fumed, having just risen to wake everyone else. The Russian had better not be molesting Alfred or he'd kick his arse no matter how intimidating he was. Francis followed him as he unzipped the tent and was met with the sight of Ivan sitting on Alfred, holding him down, the Russian looking near to hysteria.

"Alfred," Ivan said again and shook the man. He ignored the others' stares as more gathered round to watch. "Alfred,"

And then Alfred's eyes flickered shut.

Arthur gave a startled cry and crawled in. When he saw the blood on Alfred's chest, he looked up at Ivan.

"What happened? Is he still alive?" _Oh God, is the git still alive?_

He would have accused Ivan of doing this to Alfred if it weren't for the Russian's eyes reflecting the same panic within his own. "Da, he's still breathing. But… I-I do not know. I woke up to him screaming and there was blood everywhere. I think he's hurt himself…"

"What?" Arthur could scarcely believe it. Alfred would never hurt himself… would he? He bit his lip.

"Alfred," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice steady as he shook the inert man. "Yank?"

And then Alfred's eyes cracked open. "A-Artie?"

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes… thank God."

Alfred opened his eyes and looked around. "What the hell…?" Then his gaze fell on Ivan. "Why the fuck are you sitting on me?"

"You were thrashing about."

"Well, I'm not now, so could you get off? You're kinda crushing me."

Ivan did so and Alfred sat up. "What ha—ow, what the hell?" He looked down and saw the blood spread on the chest. "Fuck! Whoa, I'm bleeding."

"Nice observation, git." Arthur said, though he couldn't quite make his voice as sarcastic what with the relief at Alfred's well-being. "Lay back, I'm going to get some bandages." And he practically trampled Francis on his way out.

Matthew crawled in in his place. "A-Al? Are you all right?"

"Yeah… sorta, I mean," Alfred shook his head. "I dunno. I remember having this freaky ass dream…"

Matthew bit his lip as he examined his wound. "Al, you didn't…?"

Alfred filled in the rest for himself and glared. "Fuck no! Why the hell would I want to claw my chest out? If I wanted to kill myself, I'd go for my wrists or neck, and I most certainly wouldn't use just my hands!" Though Matthew didn't find it reassuring that Alfred didn't outright deny the fact that he would ever attempt to kill himself, he remained silent.

Arthur returned and began to wrap Alfred's wound. The American sucked air through his teeth as he felt it sting at a touch.

"Sorry," Arthur apologized. "It'll hurt a bit… Alfred, you said you had a dream?"

Alfred scrunched up his nose, trying to remember. "Yeah, I… oh shit."

"What?" Arthur gave him a worried look.

"If I didn't do this, and Ivan didn't, then…" His eyes filled with tears. "Oh Jesus, guys. It's just like Marge and my shoulder."

Matthew's eyes widened. "You mean… you think one of your states died?"

"_Think_?" Alfred asked incredulously. "This fucking hurt. I _know_." Then he added with shock. "And… I don't think that was a dream I had. I think… I was seeing it happen."

"Who was it?" Arthur urged. "Do you know?"

"Pa!"

Alfred's head snapped around as he heard Wynston calling for him. The state raced across the camp and shouldered his way inside the tent. His eyes were wide as he examined Alfred. "Shit, Pa, what happened? Ah, jeez, I shouldn't have been out scouting…"

Everyone looked at Alfred, knowing his answer would devastate Wynston.

Alfred looked at him and shook his head. "Winnie, she's gone."

Wynston's eyes widened. "Who?" His voice took on a tremor. "Is it one of my sisters?"

Alfred nodded. "I think so."

Wynston's eyes filled with tears. "Wh-who? Do you know?"

"She gave them a run." Alfred began, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm. "I saw everything through her eyes… she was running from them. Had been for weeks. She was… starving, tired… but she didn't want to give up, she didn't want to roll over. They caught her and asked her where _they _were. They… that must mean the other states. She wouldn't tell them. They… they shot her and hit her and she wouldn't tell. And then she said…" Alfred squinted his eyes shut as he tried to remember. "That quote… from Hale… Nathan Hale, yeah, I think (1)."

Wynston's began to shake. "Connor?"

"No," Alfred said. "No, not Connecticut." He recalled how the state had loved the quote. "It was one of your sisters… and she was strong and brave." He smiled a bit. "She gave one of the men a nasty cut across his face."

"What did she sound like?" Wynston urged, though his voice was small. He didn't want to know the answer, but at the same time, he _had _to.

Alfred swallowed as he struggled to remember. Then he let out a sob. "Oh God, it's… it's P-Pen, Penny. It's Penny. I know it. It h-has to be." He put his face in his hands and cried.

Wynston crawled over and hugged Alfred, burying his face in Alfred's shoulder, chest heaving.

Arthur felt his heart speed up. "Wait a second… Penny? You mean, Penelope? Pennsylvania?"

Alfred nodded, unable to respond. After Marge, he couldn't believe how much it hurt. He'd thought that Marge's death would have prepared him for this, but… it only managed to make it worse. He didn't care about the blood still oozing from his wound. For all he knew, he deserved it. He let this world become dangerous for his children, and now he was paying for it.

Arthur just sat there and stared, unable to do anything but struggle not to cry himself. Marge had been different. He hadn't known her. Not like he knew the Thirteen. And he had treated the Thirteen like his own children, that was until they had all sided with Alfred and worked to betray him. The blow was still no less crushing, though, and Arthur could scarcely believe it was Penny, of all states. Penny, the strong one. Penny, the smart one. Penny, who never gave up no matter how many times Arthur had threatened her. Penny, the leader of her northeastern brothers and sisters. It seemed impossible that she should be dead, but then again, what more proof did they need other than the mysterious scar on Alfred's chest?

Then Arthur found his voice and looked around at all the others who were gathered around the tent in a suffocating manner. "Give him some space, will you? Go!"

The others hesitated before dispersing. Beside him, Francis made to leave, but Arthur grabbed hold of his wrist and said, "No, stay. I just…" He couldn't form the words and he held Francis's hand in his, squeezing it. He needed someone to be his rock right now, and it seemed silly that it be Francis for all he went through, but the Frenchman understood and remained where he was, squeezing back.

Matthew sat and watched as Wynston and Alfred cried and felt helpless. He looked at Ivan and found the same feeling behind his eyes. He kept staring at the Russian. _I know you love him, Ivan. It's so obvious. But Alfred doesn't know how much. You need to show him. Show him before he forgets about you completely. _

Ivan blinked at him, seeming to understand what Matthew was trying to convey through his gaze. But the Russian shook his head and Matthew understood. He wasn't ready. Alfred wasn't ready.

So they both sat and watched as Alfred tried to recover. But Alfred didn't fully want to. He felt like he needed to suffer. That he needed to grieve for Penny or else he wasn't truly honoring her memory. If he didn't cry, he'd feel guilty that he wasn't so sad.

Finally, Alfred decided that he had cried enough. Anger took over his grief and he swallowed his sobs, taking his hands from his face. "We need to get to the capital, Artie."

Arthur stiffened at Alfred's tone. It was stony—stonier than he'd ever heard it. And it scared him. "Alfred…"

"No. We can't go to the south." Alfred said, staring at the side of the tent. "It's only been a few weeks and already two of my states are gone." Then he looked at Arthur. "A few weeks. Imagine waiting a whole _season_, Artie. I can't do it. I'll go insane. We need to stop them."

Arthur's heart dropped. He'd thought he'd already come to a compromise about this subject, but apparently not. "Alfred, I understand your urgency, but we have others to think about—"

"What are we doing, Art?" Alfred asked, ignoring him. "What are we doing out here?"

"Surviving, trying to get by—"

"We're _running_, Artie." Alfred said. "We can't run. We're nations."

Arthur shook his head, and he loathed the words coming out of his mouth. "But we're not nations anymore, Alfred."

"Who the fuck cares?" Alfred flashed, and Arthur blinked at his ferocity. "That's just a title. But we still have _jobs._ What about all those people out there who are relying on us to set things right? Do you think they have time to wait? How many people do you think will die so that we can stay warm for a few months?"

Arthur stared at him, mouth agape. He didn't know what to say. For once, Alfred had rendered him speechless. It was true. All of it. And the fact that Arthur was realizing this now, after he had been so determined to lead them south, was making him doubt his leadership. It frustrated him that Alfred of all people realized this long before he had, had to actually _tell _him. He sighed and said, "You're right, Alfred. We will not achieve anything by running away. Whatever it takes, we _will _end this. Too many people are looking to us to make it happen."

And so a new plan was enacted, Arthur gathering everyone around to listen. He shot down any and all objections, calling the protestors cowards or heartless. After this, no one dared suggest anything that deviated from the new plan.

* * *

The new plan: Go through Kansas and Nebraska, but do not follow the Mississippi down. Instead, they would angle toward Lake Michigan and navigate the Great Lakes by boat to Lake Erie. Then, if they managed to get that far, go southeast until they reached the Potomac River. Depending on how crowded the area was, they would either sneak through the city or navigate the river into D.C. From there, they would attempt to overthrow the Organization, though, they realized, they needed a much stronger force to help them. They needed the loyals, but they could not risk going into any big city or town to seek them out until they were incredibly close to the capital or else risk being found out by the Organization. That part of their plan was based purely on luck.

Gilbert wanted to call the plan "Operation Awesome", but Sadiq suggested it be called "Operation Trojan" after a Greek war of the same name, a little nod to Heracles whom Sadiq said, despite being a gigantic pain in the ass, had been a formidable opponent and deserved some form of respect. After that, Sadiq's face went red and he shut up for a while, though Gilbert complained until Ivan threatened (with his sickly-sweet smile) to reenact the Prussian's earlier fainting spell with his pipe.

"Ve~I think the name's perfect." Feliciano said. "They took what was ours, and they won't know what's hit them. Just like the story!"

After finding out that another one of his sisters was dead, Wynston told Alfred that he was going to take a walk through the woods for a little while. Alfred was worried and insisted that Wynston stay close, but Wynston refused and wandered off.

Alfred watched him go and was about to follow him secretly, but Matthew put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Not a good idea, Al. You know how Wynston likes to be alone sometimes. Let him cope."

"All my fucking fault." Alfred muttered, and before Matthew could say anything, Alfred walked away. Matthew didn't want to bring up any sensitive stuff or start a fight now. Not after just getting Alfred's trust back.

Sadiq watched Matthew stare worriedly after Alfred as his brother ducked into his tent to pack up. A blush trailed across his cheeks as the Canadian met his eyes for a moment before he marched off to his own tent to do the same. Sadiq's eyes followed him, and he swallowed. Did Matthew notice? Did he suspect?

Last night, Sadiq had limped out to take a leak (and to find out where the fuck Matthew had gotten off to, because his ankle hurt like hell and he needed more drugs), when he had to duck behind a tree to avoid running into Alfred. The American, luckily for him, seemed too distracted to notice him. Puzzled at what had gotten Alfred so worked up, Sadiq walked to where Alfred had come from, and his mouth dropped open.

There was Matthew—cute, sweet, timid Matthew—moving his hand up and down his cock. Sadiq couldn't help but be transfixed. It seemed such an anomaly to him. That and the Canadian's cock was _huge_. He had his pants pushed down to expose it, and he was spread out on the grass, thighs apart and breaths heavy. And just when Sadiq thought it couldn't possibly get any hotter, Matthew hiked up his shirt, licked his fingers, and rolled them over his nipples until they were hard and glistening with saliva.

Sadiq threw a bone. A big one. And he just barely stopped himself when he found that his hand was slowly snaking down into his own pants. His eyes were fixated on Matthew, the moans falling from his lips making his cock throb. It was so hard to ignore it, and his balls began to get sore from neglect.

And then Matthew arched his back, hand rapidly moving over his length, moaning as he came. The boy hadn't jerked off for some time, because it was quite a lot that came out of him.

Sadiq bit his lip to hide his own moans, and he didn't keep his hand from wandering down to rub at his pants-covered crotch. He could feel his heated flesh pulsing beneath the material, and, oh fuck, he wanted to rub one off right there, but he was afraid Matthew would catch him.

So he'd made his way back through the woods and dove into his tent, releasing his cock and pumping it like there was no tomorrow. His orgasm was one of the most satisfying he'd had in months, and only a few minutes later Matthew returned, slipping into his sleeping bag and dozing off without a second look at Sadiq, who was watching his face and trying to remember how sexy it had looked when he had come.

Only now that the high was gone did Sadiq think how much of a creeper he had been the night before. Then again, it was well worth it. _Thank you, tiny bladder…_

Gilbert had already packed. Ever since the night Lovino had explained his true intentions to him, he had not been able to sleep. As he lay awake, he mulled angrily over how the Italian had taken advantage of him and of how much a shitty friend he was to Toni for sleeping with his lover. When he tried to sleep, he dreamt about his night with Lovino, and he was shunted out of his slumber, sweating and hard. It only made him feel guilty.

As so, he had packed the night before. Now he sat there, cross-legged, staring at the side of the tent. He barely noticed Ludwig as he crawled in to pack his own things.

Ludwig caught the vacant look in Gilbert's eyes and he instantly became concerned. Rarely did he ever see his brother so distant. "East, are you okay?"

When Gilbert didn't respond, Ludwig said louder, "East?"

"Was?" Gilbert asked, snapping out of his trance and glancing over at Ludwig. "Nothing,"

"Nein," Ludwig insisted. "It's something."

Gilbert took a deep breath and sighed, "Worried about being out on the fucking plains…"

Ludwig continued to stare at him, knowing he was lying. But Gilbert ignored him. "Ja, we all are. But that isn't what you're worried most about."

Gilbert suddenly flashed him a glare. "I'm not a fucking criminal to be interrogated, so lay off!" Ludwig blinked, shocked, as Gilbert left the tent, dragging his backpack out. Outside, everyone was staring at him. He glowered at them all. Lovino stood beside his tent, staring at him like he was crazy. Gilbert shot daggers at him until Lovino looked away, his expression that of terror.

He thought Gilbert would out him in front of everyone.

Gilbert wanted to do just that. Maybe then the little Italian fuck would learn his lesson. But Gilbert's throat constricted, and he couldn't find the words. With a growl of frustration, he said, "What are all of you looking at? Let's go!"

* * *

Translations:  


_Non, j'ai lui vu. Mais je ne voulais pas y croire-_No, I have seen it. But I did not want to believe it.

_Je suis anglais_-I am English.

References:

1-Nathan Hale was a Continental soldier during the American Revolution who volunteered to gather intelligence in New York City, but was captured by the British and hanged. He was born in Connecticut. The quote mentioned were his last words.

A Word From the Writer: Prussia's going off the deep end fast and then you got states dying, relationships forming, a rift forming in the group... just a big hot mess. Then again, the world is a hot mess in the first place. No avoiding getting stuck in that. And what's up with creeping Turkey? I dunno, ever since he stalked Romano, I've always seen him as a bit of a creeper. And I did include some sort of masturbation scene. There, are you happy? XD

And, aw, that was perhaps one of the best fluff/lemon scenes I've ever written. And to believe it was with FrUK. I make miracles happen, people.


	53. What's Left Behind and What Follows

**Let's get freaky.  
**

Warning: Angst, some RusAme and GerIta fluff, gruesome scene, and an attempted rape.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**What's Left Behind and What Follows**

Everyone was tense after Gilbert's outburst, and it was still palpable with the Prussian walking among them, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Ludwig seriously hoped he hadn't cracked. As for now, though, there was nothing he could do to get through to his brother. He had slid too far into himself, and it scared Ludwig.

_Lost_. Ludwig thought nostalgically. _Lost, just like he was under the Third Reich. _Then again, Ludwig had also been lost. If Gilbert was more experienced, older, wiser than Ludwig, how soon then would Ludwig also succumb to silence and brooding?

"Ludwig?"

Feliciano's voice snapped him out of his daze. "Ja, Feli?"

The Italian looked concerned. Deeply concerned. He saw how Gilbert was, and he didn't think he could stand Ludwig being the same way. It was like everyone had left him, forgotten about him. Lovino wouldn't talk to him—he couldn't afford to lose Ludwig, too. "Are you okay?"

"Ja, I'm fine." Ludwig replied, surprised at how hollow his voice sounded.

Feliciano didn't say anything. His gaze dropped downward. Ludwig felt something brush up against his hand. He looked up at Feliciano as the Italian clasped his hand. But Feliciano didn't look at him, only kept staring at the ground. The German continued to look ahead, a small smile on his face.

Alfred noticed their pair's hands, and he felt a surge of longing. He looked over at Ivan, who was walking a ways away from him, eyes forward. Alfred felt guilty about not being as close to Ivan as the Russian deserved. He wanted to be with him, but… there was just so much shit going on. Then again, he could understand the man's urgency. Everyday was a gamble with their lives. And if he or Ivan happened to die before they could get close, then… Alfred didn't even want to think about it.

They found Wynston waiting for them at the edge of the treeline. He gave them a small, weary smile as they approached. His eyes were swollen and red.

"Well, guys, this is it." he said, his voice solemn and wavering. "The Great Plains."

"Let's just call it 'The Plains.' The 'Great' part is kind of off-putting." Sadiq said, and everyone gave small laughter. Though their voices sounded more anxious than amused.

Arthur examined the landscape before him: miles upon miles of dry, yellow grass and rolling hills. There was no sign of life for who knew how far. The sky was a solid, slate gray. But the Briton wouldn't let the plains intimidate him, just like he didn't let the never-ending expanse of open sea intimidate him. "Come on. Before the full glare of winter is upon us." And he started forward.

The whole group followed after him, and Alfred passed Wynston, giving him a small, reassuring smile. But Wynston remained where he was, watching them go. He had tears in his eyes.

Alfred stopped. "Winnie?"

He was expecting Wynston to tell him not to call him that, but he only took a deep, shuddering breath and said, "Bye, Pa."

Alfred stared at him, and by now everyone had stopped along with him to watch the exchange.

"You can't leave us," Feliciano said, looking terrified. "You know the plains. We'll get lost without you."

Wynston shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I have responsibilities elsewhere. Before I found y'all at the bunker, I was protectin' a town nearby with a group of refugees. I sensed it was you, Pa, and before I set off, I told everyone that I'd be back within a week. And I keep my promises."

Alfred blinked at him and said, "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Wynston gave a watery smile. "'Cause I knew you'd tell me to get my ass back there."

Alfred laughed, but tears were welling in his own eyes. "You should."

"I know."

They just stood there and looked at each other. Alfred wanted nothing more than to hug his son, but he knew it would only make the parting all the more difficult. So, with a dip of his head, he said, "Good luck, son. We're going to fix this, I promise."

"I know." Wynston replied. He slipped a Stetson hat out of his pack and put it on. Alfred smiled. It completed Wynston. "I've been hiding this because of the people huntin' me." Wynston explained. "But now… I'm with ya. I'm not gonna let 'em intimidate me any longer. this is the day I take back what's mine." He tipped his hat to him. "Whatever it takes."

Alfred smiled back. "Whatever it takes."

They continued on after that, down by one member. Alfred kept looking back over his shoulder, watching his son as he waved them farewell until his form molded into the shadows of the trees. His heart ached after that. Two states dead, one left behind. When would it end?

He stiffened as a hand grabbed his own. He looked up to see Ivan gazing down at him.

"He will be fine, da? Cowboys are tough from what I know."

Alfred smiled. "Yeah… yeah, he'll be fine."

No one noticed their hand holding. They were all too busy worrying over the approaching thunderheads.

* * *

_Into the storm. _Lovino thought. _How fucking fitting. _But it looked like nothing compared to the storm going on in his head.

He still couldn't believe he let Gilbert fuck him. The bastard was the last person he would have chosen, but no one was there at his moment of need but the Prussian.

Antonio was out of his mind now. That was all he got from it. Lovino could sleep peacefully now without waking up from a dream about his lost lover, crying over him, missing him. He was stronger now. And although it hurt him to think that he had all but forgotten about the Spaniard, he knew that he couldn't afford to grieve anymore. He needed to focus on more important things—like surviving.

And even though he told himself again and again that what he did with Gilbert was right, was _imperative_ to his survival and sanity, he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. He'd taken advantage of Gilbert. He knew that. But then again, did the Prussian really care? Lovino had watched throughout the centuries, had seen how Gilbert slept around and didn't care about the consequences. Why was it now that Gilbert suddenly decided to act all fucking hurt by sleeping with someone randomly?

But the more and more Lovino watched Gilbert, the more he began to suspect it wasn't an act. The albino was uptight, angry, and… torn. Torn between what, Lovino didn't know, but it was obvious in Gilbert's eyes. Earlier that day, Lovino had thought that Gilbert would give what they did away, and that terrified him. But now, he was more worried about it being his fault that the Prussian was slipping over the edge.

Goddammit. He had passed on his hurts. He hadn't meant to, but he had. In a stupid, desperate act, Lovino had relieved his own pain, but at the same time burdened Gilbert with it. Lovino was such a fuck up. Had always been a fuck up. No wonder Rome had liked Feliciano better. Hell, _everyone_ liked Feliciano better. Feliciano didn't hurt anyone. Feliciano was _perfect_.

_How the hell did someone as fucked up as me survive this long? _Lovino thought. _This is my punishment: to fuck everything up and suffer the consequences for an eternity. What a fucking kick in the ass…_

Arthur gave a huff of frustration as he studied the approaching storm clouds. He'd thought that they'd be able to get at least a little farther before the storm was upon them, but with the winds whipping at this rate, it would happen within the hour. He stopped and everyone stopped with him.

"We can't afford to get wet when it's this cold." Arthur told them. He longed to be among the trees, but they were a mile or so behind them, and he didn't want to backtrack. Never look back. Always look forward. No matter the tempest that lay before, always look ahead. "We'll camp here."

He set down his pack and examined the plains. Still so far to go. He could feel his bones aching already. And then his eyes found something peculiar.

A figure. Standing alone, shrouded in black. Arthur's heart felt like it had stopped. Was it one of the Organization? Why did no one else notice it? Why weren't they running?

As he continued to stare, frozen with shock, the person began to become clearer. He blinked in rapid succession, shaking his head. A mirage. But didn't mirages only happen in deserts? The only other explanation was that it was a figment of his imagination.

And then there she was: Britannia. He knew it even though he could only see the back of her. Golden hair fell in ringlets down her back, stopping just above her thighs. She had flowers and leaves woven into the strands. She was how Arthur liked to remember her: without helm or shield or trident or lion. She was a pure spirit, given life from the earth and giving it back with her magic. This was how she first emerged, how she presented herself to Arthur when he was young. Arthur felt a need to run to her and tell her all of his problems, allow her to wash them all away…

His heart nearly jumped into his throat when Britannia turned around. Skin gray, melting right off her bones. Hair turning to a nest of slippery, writhing worms. Her eyes were coal black. Long talons curled from her fingers, beckoning to him. And when she opened her mouth, a river of blood gushed out, sluicing toward him, ready to swallow him up…

He wanted to scream, to run, but he was frozen where he stood. All he could do was stare as corpses washed up to him, the blood carrying mutilated bodies. He looked down and felt faint when he saw Kiku with his eyes jabbed out and his lower jaw ripped from his skull, torn bits of flesh and tendons surrounding the lolling tongue.

_They are waiting for you, my love. _Britannia cooed. _The damned are waiting for you to join them. _

_ But first, you will make their blood run._

A hand on Arthur's shoulder made him sway. He stumbled a bit as Francis said, "Arthur, cher, are you all right? You look sick."

Arthur quickly righted himself, his head snapping to the place where Britannia was standing. But she was gone. Nothing of her remained. No Britannia, no blood, and no bodies. _Dear Lord, what's happening to me?_

"Arthur?"

"I'm fine, Francis." _Am I? _Arthur fought to get his pulse and breathing under control, turning back to the group. He was afraid that if he continued to survey the land, he would see other… horrible things.

Francis was still staring at him. The look on Arthur's face was sheer terror. It wasn't often that he saw that… or that Arthur allowed him to see it. He was about to ask Arthur if he wanted to lie down for a bit, if Francis could pitch their tent by himself so that Arthur could rest, but Arthur looked at him and said, "Come on, let's get this thing up."

Francis continued to stare at him, watching his shaky movements as Arthur unrolled the tent and began to put it up. When Arthur noticed that Francis was not helping him, he felt annoyed—no, that wasn't the word, _angry_. Arthur was so angry at Francis, murderously so, and he didn't know why, but he knew he should be.

"Stop standing there staring like a fucking idiot, and help me with this goddamn thing!" Arthur yelled, and Francis snapped out of it, lunging forward to help. The Frenchman's heart was in his throat, and his fingers were trembling as they struggled to untie the bundle of tentpoles. That look in Arthur's eyes, that _voice_… for all the years Francis had known him, he had never seen or heard Arthur in this manner. It was frightening.

Now everyone was staring. And Arthur rounded on them. "What are you all fucking looking at? I said make camp!"

Everyone quickly looked away and got back to work. Alfred had heard Arthur get angry before—he'd done plenty to make that happen—but he knew instantly that this was different. Arthur's voice sounded cold and not his own. It might just be the pressure of the mission getting to him, but Alfred highly doubted the Brit would break so easily with his history. A man who built an empire couldn't just snap out of the blue one day. At the least Alfred expected a slow descent into madness, but even that possibility seemed unlikely.

And there went the tension again. Talk about drop-kicking it up a whole fucking mile. Now they had Gilbert _and _Arthur to worry about. Fucking _great._

Alfred and Ivan exchanged glances, and it was obvious that the Russian was feeling a bit uneasy. It wasn't the fact that he was afraid of what Gilbert and Arthur might do—no, he wouldn't be afraid of them in any situation. But if the men happened to act out, they could end up splitting the group, and they needed more than ever to stick together.

The first drops of rain began to fall when the last of the tents was pitched. Everyone was quiet for fear of further pissing Arthur off. Francis was a bit hesitant about crawling into the same tent with Arthur, and it hurt him that he was. Just the night before, Arthur had made sweet love to him. What had happened to that Arthur? This wasn't the same one. This wasn't Arthur.

Francis could feel Arthur's eyes on him as he slipped into his sleeping bag. He glanced over, and his blood froze at how sinister Arthur's gaze looked. The Briton was leering—though it wasn't the sort of leer Francis preferred. It was dark, lustful, and—foreboding.

Before Francis could clamber out of his sleeping bag and out of the tent, Arthur had pounced, pinning him to the ground. Francis struggled beneath him, alarmed that he could not throw the man off. Surely since they were now reduced to human strength Francis would be a match for Arthur?

His hands were held above his head, Arthur's grip vicelike. The Briton's hand pushed up Francis's shirt.

"I know you want it, fucking whore." Arthur hissed. "I'm going to hollow you out really good. And you'll like it, won't you, slut?" His tongue darted out, snaking over Francis's closed lips. Beneath his shirt, Arthur's nails dug into one of Francis's wounds, ripping it open.

Francis whimpered and writhed beneath him. "Stop! Arthur, what are you doing? Get off of me! Stop!"

"I'll do what I goddamn please!" Arthur growled, taking a fistful of Francis's hair and pulling viciously.

Francis let out another cry, tears gathering in his eyes. Not this. Not again. Not so soon, when he was just starting to feel happy, just when he was forgetting… "Please," it was barely a whisper.

Arthur blinked and looked him over. "Francis? What the hell…?" The Briton felt something warm and liquid on his fingers, and he pulled his hand out of Francis's shirt. Blood. "Jesus Christ…"

Francis sat up, rubbing his wrists as Arthur released and clambered off of him. He sat there, staring at the blood soaking through the Frenchman's shirt. "Shit… let me—" He slipped a roll of gauze out of his pack and hiked up Francis's shirt, proceeding to wrap it around the open wound. Francis just watched, too shocked to do or say anything.

When Arthur was done, he sat back and asked, "Did… did I do that?"

Francis found his voice. "Arthur—"

"Just tell me."

"Yes," Francis croaked, his eyes going downcast.

"Oh…" Arthur's voice was shot with disbelief. "Oh God, th-that wasn't me… I blacked out."

Francis moved over to him, willing away his fright. The sting of his reopened wound barely registered. He reached out to him, needed to feel if this was still Arthur. "Cher—"

But the Briton scrambled out of his reach and across the tent. "Out. Go to Matthew's and Sadiq's tent. You're not safe here. I don't know if I can…" His eyes widened as he trailed off, realizing something. "Go on. Move!"

Francis stiffened and left, dragging his stuff with him. Arthur hated being so stern with him, but he couldn't control his own actions anymore. _Something's wrong. _Arthur thought. _Very wrong._

When he could no longer hear Francis's footsteps, Arthur dug through his pack. He found the dream catcher and tossed it away. It wouldn't help now. Whatever it was that was in him had enough power to overcome the safeguard. He eventually found his spell book—an old, black tome, shrunk down with magic, with torn and yellowed pages—and he set it before him. The pages flew by beneath his fingers as he searched for a ward powerful enough to protect him. He found one and willed his mind to focus, repeating the ancient words verbatim. If he said one wrong, held a single syllable too long, it could backfire and kill him. He knew this, but he trusted himself despite his state.

The air popped and fizzed around him, but other than that the evidence of magic was not visible. He was, after all, directing the ward to manifest in his own mind. When it was done, Arthur held his breath, expecting a sharp lash in his mind. But nothing came.

He took a deep breath and let it slowly out. He hadn't heard the blood roaring in his ears. The ward was powerful; to even create it required a great deal of Arthur's energy, and it would slowly continue to sap him of it as long as it was activated. The Briton was drowsy and felt faint. He had forgotten that he had a human's strength now. Normally that ward would have left him feeling a bit winded; now it felt like he'd run nonstop for days.

Arthur was forced to extinguish the ward or else slip into the void. He barely had the strength to say the parting words, and when he was done he collapsed onto his sleeping bag. Fatigue tugged at his eyelids.

The ward was gone, but surely something that powerful would have scared whatever it was that had been tormenting Arthur away. There were plenty of magic users out there who could sense Arthur's considerable presence from across oceans, and it hadn't been the first time some mediocre warlock had tried to seize and control his mind. He was, after all, very powerful and wise, and, as a result, more than desirable. But Arthur could shield his mind very well, though he'd been neglecting that to focus on other things in the past few days, one of those things being survival. Normally a good jab at the attacker's mind would send them reeling out of his head and into a month-long headache of their own. That wouldn't happen again, however. Arthur would be more vigilant now.

Still, from his experience with magic Arthur adamantly believed in superstition. He snatched up the dream catcher and once again held it to his chest as he dozed off.

No nightmares came to Arthur that night, and he was happy.

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Okay, so maybe England's getting a little too kooky to lead anyone, but I'll keep him in such a position just to keep up conflict. And Britannia keeps trolling him wherever he goes. Troll on, my good lady, troll on~

And say goodbye to my OC. He was good while he lasted, and I'll miss him. Him and his signature Stetson hat. But I'll just tell you now, there will be one more state to show up. And _they _will be key to our boys' final stand.


	54. Grow

**Are you starting to figure out why I wanted an even number of nations?  
**

Warning: Lemon, dubcon (kinda), fluff, angst, a fight. Good stuff, folks.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**Grow**

The wind started just after the sunset, and it was a bitch combined with the cold. With no trees to shield them, the gusts buffeted the nylon endlessly. Kiku and Yao were both bundled up in their sleeping bags, hoping that the tent wouldn't be completely blown away by the storm.

It wasn't until midnight that Kiku actually fell asleep, although he had been plenty tired earlier in the evening. Every time the wind would blow, Kiku would bolt upright to hold the tent down. He eventually realized that he really didn't need to… and he promptly drifted off.

He didn't dream. He was in a dead sleep—something that he had been lacking for the past week or so. Being out in the middle of nowhere assured him that his recently dull senses would not be a problem.

Kiku was so out of it that he didn't notice Yao moving ever closer to him in his own sleeping bag. The Chinaman was cold, and he craved the warmth. That and he couldn't sleep because it had been so long since he had properly gotten off that every time he closed his eyes, he would awake only minutes later with a hard-on from the constant wet dreams he'd been having of late. He had been trying to ignore them, but his dick was obviously sending him a message. He was ashamed to even think of it, but he couldn't just jerk off. He'd tried that, and it still didn't work. He needed to fuck _something_, and the only something to fuck was the man lying passed out right next to him.

Yao considered Kiku as his younger brother, but that didn't mean he didn't find him attractive. Of course, it had been a thought he'd stored safely in the back of his mind until now, when he couldn't make it go away. He loved Kiku, and he didn't want his sexual urges to ruin their relationship… even though it was really one-sided. Then again, he _might_ be able to use that as an excuse…

He was surprised when he tied Kiku's hands behind his back with one of his shoelaces and the younger man didn't even flinch. _Wow, he must really be tired._ Yao smirked. Was he really going to do this? Wake someone up who desperately needed sleep just to satisfy his own sexual needs?

Hell, yes.

Yao shimmied out of his sleeping bag and into Kiku's. He reached around Kiku's front, hiking up his shirt and pushing down his pants. _God, is this right? Should I be doing this? _Yao knew well his conscious should be shouting a loud 'NO!', but he needed this so badly and Kiku was the only one near (and inert) enough to give it to him.

Kiku shifted as he felt something cold brush up against his stomach. He pulled the sleeping bag further around himself—or at least _tried_. His hands seemed to be bound tightly behind his back. Kiku almost panicked. Oh God, had his hands gotten _stuck _there? He couldn't have that. He tried moving them again, but he felt the rough burn on his wrists.

Some sort of string. Someone had tied him up.

At first Kiku thought that they had been ambushed sometime in the night and that he hadn't heard a thing, which scared him more than he could say. But then why would his attacker be laying so close behind him with his cold hands up his shirt?

There could be only one answer. "Yao-sama?"

"Shì?"

"Why are you in my sleeping bag?"

"… I was cold."

Kiku stiffened when he felt Yao's fingers brush over his skin. Okay, this was really starting to get creepy. And Kiku's claustrophobia was kicking in. "Yao-sama… this is very awkward."

Yao couldn't help but smirk. He was feeling a bit reckless. "Not if you want this, too…" His hand dipped into Kiku's underwear.

Kiku gave a yelp and jerked away. "H-hey! You hands—!"

But Yao wrapped a hand around Kiku's mouth. "Shh. Everything is all right, Kiku. Just keep still…"

Yao's fingers brushed the base of Kiku's cock, and the younger man began to squirm against him. He would have kicked Yao away if it weren't for the older man's legs locking his own in place. Kiku screamed behind the hand muffling him.

"Shh, shh," Yao hissed in Kiku's ear. His lips brushed against the heated skin. His tongue darted out to trace the shell.

Kiku's eyes widened, and he stopped writhing altogether. This was really happening. He couldn't believe Yao was doing this. Yao, of all people. At the least, he'd expected Francis. He was too shocked to move as the fingers found his cock, wrapping themselves around the shaft.

"I'm sorry, Kiku." Yao said, though he truly wasn't. "But I need this. I know you do, too."

Yao moved against Kiku, suppressing a moan. Kiku's breath caught when he felt hard, pulsing warmth grinding against his backside.

"Please," Yao whispered. "Give me this."

Kiku was bound, and there was no getting away. There was no choice.

He was still as Yao pulled down Kiku's pants and underwear. Yao struggled to push his own down as well, and soon his arousal was pushed up against Kiku's bare ass. Yao let up his grip on Kiku's mouth so he could plunge the fingers of his other hand between the younger's lips.

"Wet them," he ordered. "so that I won't hurt you."

Kiku did so bitterly. He couldn't believe this. Only a couple of days after hearing Francis's horrific tale of rape and now Yao was going to do the same to him. It was wrong, it was cold, it was barbaric, it was…

Arousing.

Well, this _was _Yao. He wasn't one of those thuggish inmates. Kiku knew Yao, and as so he knew that this was something Yao would never do unless pressured. And Kiku could tell by the strain in Yao's voice, by the throbbing need against his thigh, that Yao's subconscious was responsible for this.

Kiku, though he never openly admitted it, respected Yao. Loved—maybe. He had never been so close to anyone to love them. But he considered Yao closer to him than anyone else in his life, even though he had never shown it any way. He liked to keep that part of him secret. That he admired Yao. That Yao was wise. That Yao was… kawaii.

Kiku blushed as he thought about it. About all those times he thought those… dirty things about Yao and had gotten hard. With him being a secret pervert (okay, maybe not _that_ secret, but he liked to think that he was), it was no surprise to him that he was turned on by the thought of sleeping with someone who considered Kiku a younger brother. The biggest surprise aside from this fantasy actually _happening_ was that Yao was the one initiating it.

_No! _Kiku thought. This was wrong! He was not liking this. He was not liking this…

Yao took his fingers from Kiku's mouth, a trail of saliva following them.

"Keep still." Yao breathed against Kiku's neck, kissing it softly. "Very still. And quiet…" And he pushed a finger into him.

Kiku gasped and moved his hips away. It had been a good many months since he'd been penetrated by anything (yes, anything. He had toys), and a sting of pain shot up his spine.

Yao caught his hip. "Still, still, Kiku…" He pulled Kiku back to him, cock hardening with the man's resistance, and he forced his whole finger in. Kiku arched and moaned, and Yao no longer had to hold his hips in place.

"You're so tight, xiǎodì." Yao inserted another finger, and Kiku yelped, pushing back against them.

Kiku's cock was standing at full mast—neglected for so long and spurred by Yao's words. Kiku felt Yao's fingers nudge at his prostate, and he arched, moaning behind the man's fingers.

That was enough for Yao to take his fingers (rather haphazardly) from Kiku's ass and press the head of own cock to his entrance. He didn't say a thing as he pushed in.

"Mmm, mmm…!" Kiku struggled to suppress his moans with the feel of Yao inside him. Oh God. It really was happening. It took the end of the world, but Yao was finally fucking him!

Yao nipped Kiku's neck as he pulled out. He hadn't felt this for a long time. He held Kiku's hip for dear life. "Oh, Kiku~"

When Yao began to fuck him, Kiku fell into a haze of heat and lust. It was so uncommon for Kiku to just give himself up without a fight, especially to something (very controversial to him) like sex. Then again, the hard times had brought out changes in him. He could care less about his old traditions now. All he knew was that he was desperate for Yao, and he was willing to let him be one of the few people to see him in this sort of needy state.

It wasn't long before he could feel that Yao was at his edge, moaning into the soft skin of Kiku's neck, kissing him there. But Kiku needed more. Yao seemed so lost in his own pleasure, he wasn't properly tending to Kiku's.

Well, he'd just have to change that.

Yao's grip had become slack shortly into their romp, and Kiku took advantage by working his legs loose and sitting up. Yao stammered as his cock was freed from Kiku's ass, but Kiku didn't give him a chance to protest. "Untie me," he said breathlessly, and Yao reached around to do so. He knew he was taking a chance, and he was quite nervous. Normally he wasn't this bold. But Kiku decided that all that mattered was having Yao's cock in him and finishing himself, so he rolled Yao over, straddled him, and sunk back down on his cock.

"A-ah, uh, Yao…" Kiku moaned, too lost in his arousal to care about what came out of his mouth. He began to move, and Yao stared up at him in disbelief, hands going to Kiku's hips to guide him as he went up and down on his cock.

Yao became entranced by the fluid movements of Kiku's hips, the flawlessness of his skin, those sexy moans, those deep, brown eyes. Oh God, Kiku was so beautiful, how had Yao managed to keep himself from taking the man earlier? He reached out and grasped Kiku's swollen cock, stroking it in time with his rolling hips.

Kiku threw his head back and moaned, the high winds and the rain outside drowning him out (hopefully) as he came in hot bursts, clamping tightly around the dick inside him. Yao followed soon after, moaning Kiku's name over and over as he filled him.

They remained there, catching their breaths, enjoying the feel of being together, connected, at last. When Kiku came down from his high, he realized how brazen he had been. His face was at full blush as he looked meekly down at Yao.

But Yao was smiling. "It looks like I just could have asked."

Kiku's blush deepened. "I… I, uh…"

Yao shook his head and held out his arms to Kiku. "Come here,"

Kiku moved off of Yao's cock to lay next to him, cheek against Yao's chest and arm stretched over him. Yeah, this felt like a good position. Like in those mangas…

"You know," Yao said, holding him. "I like cute things."

Kiku smiled. "So… I did a good job?"

"More than a good job." Yao kissed the top of his head. "It's official. All cute things come from Japan."

Kiku didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he raised himself on his elbows and pressed his lips to Yao's. When they parted, Yao squealed and crushed Kiku to his chest.

"Oh, Kiku, you are so kawaii~!"

"Y-Yao-chan, you are… too… close…"

"Oh, sorry," Yao said, releasing him, heart lifting at the endearing honorific. They looked at each other for a moment.

"Want to try that kiss again? I really liked it."

Kiku nodded and did so, stiffening when he felt Yao's tongue run across his bottom lip. Kiku let him in, their tongues brushing past one another, Yao's fingers threading through his hair, their hips grinding together…

Kiku broke the kiss. "Again?" He was blushing, but, damn, he wanted it.

Yao smiled. "As long as it's storming, we can do anything we want."

Kiku smiled back and let Yao roll them over so that the younger lay beneath him. Yao ran his fingers through Kiku's hair.

"You know I can't resist cute things."

* * *

None of the tents blew away in the night, which they were all grateful for and surprised by. The storm lasted barely three hours, but the winds were still present. During the night Francis had snuck into Matthew and Sadiq's tent, and they honestly weren't that surprised about him requesting to spend the night with them. It was a struggle to move about properly as the wind buffeted their clothes and whipped their hair across their faces. It was then that Arthur realized he needed a haircut to avoid looking like a frog.

But there were other matters to tend to. When everyone was up and out, Arthur began, "We need to keep moving. As we have previously decided, we will continue east. Winter will be upon us before long, and it would be in our best interest to be free of the plains when the snows come." He glanced around. "There's a stream just ahead. It looks to be the last one for miles. If anyone is short of water, then fill up there."

"I think we should wash up, too." Francis added, examining his filthy hands. "This might be our last chance before the water's too freezing to risk bathing."

Arhur frowned. Trust Francis to suggest a public bath. But then again, he wasn't opposed to it. He felt grimy, and a good wash might brighten everyone's spirits. "Yes, that sounds… good. The water might not be the warmest at this time of day, but it will certainly wake us up." He smiled, but no one laughed. Okay, this was weird. Sure, everyone regarded Arthur's humor with little amusement, but that was one that should have earned at least a few laughs. He sighed. "We should also really talk more about our problems. All this silence is putting more tension between everyone than it ought to. Let's work on addressing the problems, not escalating them, hm?" His eyes passed subconsciously over Gilbert.

Even though it was only a second's glance, Gilbert noticed it well enough. Anger began to boil inside him. "Why do you look at me when you say that, huh?"

Arthur blinked. "What? Gilbert, I didn't—"

"Nein," Gilbert snapped. "You did. You think you're such a great fucking leader, don't you? Look at yourself now. Ordering everyone to spill what they might not want to tell. Who are you to boss everyone around? No one elected you to lead this group."

Arthur was now red-faced and furious. After all he'd been through worrying about protecting this group, about keeping it together, and now he got _this_? "No one elected me. That's true enough. But no one had the bollocks to step up, so I did. I've been through more than you know regarding this group, and I won't have someone saying I'm only doing it for control."

Gilbert clenched his fists. "There you go again, accusing 'someone.' Ja, don't try to put a mask over it, British prick, I know it's me that's 'troubling' you. And I see all the wary looks I get. Don't anyone try to deny it. You're all fucking scared of me, right? Waiting for me to blow up like some bomb that's counting down?"

"East," Ludwig began. "No one has said—"

"Of course no one has said anything!" Gilbert rounded on him. "_I'm _the issue, ja? I'm the problem. You're all just waiting for me to fuck off so that you can talk outloud to each other and be happy and forget that there are _some _people here that are acting as silent catalysts to what's going on. And they're too fucking cowardly to admit it." Gilbert glanced at Lovino, and the Italian's eyes widened. "So you just go on blaming me for the fucking tension. You don't even know why I'm so fucking angry."

"But, dude," Alfred cut in. "Artie just said that we were gonna talk about that stuff."

"Screw talking about it if the _cause _of my anger isn't going to step up. Because he won't. He likes to run away from his problems and dump them on somebody else, but I'm tired of taking all of his shit." Gilbert felt like punching something. A tree. Where was a fucking tree when he needed one? Nothing was fucking working out for him and it was starting to piss him off. "I… I can't believe this. I'm done." He began to walk off in a random direction. "Feel free to talk now. I won't be around to blow up on you."

"Gilbert!" Arthur shouted. "We really shouldn't be wandering off on our own!"

"Don't tell me what to fucking do when _you _were acting like an ass the other day. At least I'm solving the problem by removing myself from the situation, not escalating it by trying to lead with an unstable mind. Fuck you!" He gave Arthur a double bird, turned around, put his hands in his pockets, and walked off. He was done. He'd taken enough shit, even though most of what people had to say to him hadn't been voiced. But they sure as hell told him by how they _looked_ at him.

"East!" Ludwig called, but Gilbert didn't respond, didn't even stop.

Feliciano began to cry. "Ve, Gilbert's going away. He isn't coming back, is he?"

Lovino growled. "Oh, he sure as fuck will." He was pissed. Now Gilbert was being over dramatic about his goddamn problems. Who gave him that right? Everyone had issues, and even though Lovino had contributed to Gilbert's, he wasn't just going to let the man walk away from his troubles. No one could just walk away, and Gilbert had no right if no one else could. They were a fucking team, and there was no room for selfish attitudes.

So Lovino took off after him, not caring if people were staring or suspicious or _knew _he was the cause of Gilbert's issues. He was going to put an end to this shit. It had been eating him, too. He had to say something before Gilbert did something to put the group or himself in danger.

When Lovino finally caught up to him, Gilbert didn't stop, but he said, "What the fuck do you want, Lovino? To punch me in the face like last time? Would that solve the problem?"

"Stop, bastard, I want to talk to you."

"I'm not stopping. If you need me to stop to listen to you, then fuck off."

Lovino boiled. "Hey, dickhead, I'm talking to you so _stop fucking walking away_." He grabbed Gilbert's shoulder and pulled him back, forcing him to stop.

Lovino could see the muscles in Gilbert's shoulders tense. He turned around, his face red and his jaw clenched. "Why can't you fucking leave me alone, Lovino? You've done enough."

"Then stop making a big fucking problem out of what we did!" Lovino growled back.

"How can I not, Lovino? How the _fuck _can I not?" Gilbert was shouting now, and he didn't care who heard. "You used me, Lovino. You _used _me! Do you know how much that fucking _hurts_?" Lovino was staring at him, speechless, and Gilbert scoffed. "Of course you don't." And he turned around, walking off again.

"You… you felt something, didn't you?" Lovino said, and Gilbert stopped.

"Nein. I _thought_ I felt something."

"Well then why the fuck else would you be hurt?" Lovino demanded. "I've known you to sleep with anyone and not feel a damn thing. Why now?"

Gilbert turned around, staring at him. "Nein, why _me_? Why did you choose me to dump all of this onto? I know I've done a lot of shitty things, but I would never give my problems to someone else. _I'm_ not even that cruel."

"It wouldn't have hurt so much if you didn't ca—"

"Answer me, Lovino!" Lovino was silent, glaring. "It could have been anyone, huh? Is that what you're going to say? West could have walked in there, and you would have screwed him because you needed to forget. How fucking selfish is that? … I was just a piece of flesh with a cock. That's all you needed, why worry about everything else?"

"It had to be you." Lovino muttered.

"What?"

"It had to be you!" he shouted, face flushed and his limbs shaking with fury. He'd thought about this. He knew the answer. "It couldn't just be anyone else. Before what we did… you fucking got to me. You wanted to pound the shit out of those convicts that had Francis because he was your friend. I said you didn't fucking know… but, goddammit, I was angry because you were acting how I should have fucking acted when Toni told me to run. You would have stayed by his side. You would have fought off those fuckers. But I fucking _ran_, dammit. I ran, and Toni died, and I'm a fucking coward! That's all I've ever been, and you are everything I should fucking _be_." Lovino's voice lowered. "How I _should _have been." When Gilbert didn't say anything, Lovino continued, "You're right. I am a horrible lover. How could I just leave Toni to die? And then I fucking sleep with his friend to end my suffering? Toni was the only one who ever loved me, and I just fucking let it fly away like piss in the wind. I was never meant to love anyone. That's how it is, and I see that now. I didn't even love Toni enough to save him from those bastards." Ah, fuck, he was crying. Why now, why the _fuck _now?

Gilbert wanted to hold Lovino and tell him it was okay, but the others were watching at the camp, and he didn't want Lovino to be hurt by their secret getting out. He didn't think it was time for that yet. So instead he said, "Lovino, you aren't a coward. I was wrong to say that." Gilbert was admitting he had been wrong. That was a first.

"Don't tell me what I am when I fucking know myself well enough, bastard!" Lovino fought to keep his voice steady, but he was wiping his face with his hands.

"Lovi, you left Toni, but think about what you did after." Gilbert walked up to him, sighing. Wasn't Lovino supposed to be the one comforting him? Oh well. He touched Lovino's bandaged shoulder. "This shows how brave you are. You went back for your brother, even though you knew how dangerous that would be. You fucking carried him on your back up a ladder and into a helicopter and got shot doing it. You are not a coward, Lovino, you were just conflicted at the moment of your decision."

"You're fucking loyal. You would have stayed with Toni, made sure you got out of there together…"

"Nein. If it was between him and West, it would have been as equally hard for me, and… I don't know who I would have chosen. It was hard, but Feliciano is alive because of it."

"But Toni is gone…" Lovino cried. "He loved me and I let him down…"

"Lovino, Toni would not have wanted you to stay even if you had chosen to. He didn't care if you ran or not, because he wanted you alive. You didn't abandon him."

"How do you fucking know, b-bastard?"

"Because I know Toni." Gilbert said quietly. "And you do, too. Stop lying to yourself. You're tormenting yourself over his death. It hasn't been him that's been plaguing your mind, it's been your subconscious. You're feeling guilty about leaving him when you shouldn't be."

_I am_. Lovino thought, his tears clearing up. _It's all me. Toni wouldn't want me to feel guilty… he loved me… _He sniffed and looked up at Gilbert. "You've been doing this to yourself, too. It isn't me that's making you angry… admit it."

Gilbert felt himself go pale. "Admit what?"

Lovino smirked. "That I wasn't just another fuck."

Gilbert chuckled. "Ja, well, maybe you weren't."

"Come on, bastard. Everyone's probably eager to know what the fuck's going on."

"You won't tell them anything."

"Damn straight,"

As they made their way back to the camp, Lovino took a chance and said, "You want to do it again soon?"

"Ja. I don't think Toni would mind. It takes a special person to get close to you. I think I've earned his approval."

"Si, you have. Anyone who could make me that fucking angry definitely deserves some sort of reward."

When they got back to camp, everyone was staring at them. Lovino and Gilbert had made sure to stop smiling to ward off any suspicions about them being together.

"What the fuck are you all staring at?" Lovino snapped. "The fucker's back, so let's go!"

* * *

Translations:  


xiǎodì-little brother

A Word From the Writer: So... just a bunch of shit going on, but you can basically see how everyone pairs up now, right? Riiiight? Nice little lemon scene I had for you guys, because it's fun to write. And then Prussia and Romano have finally settled things. Talk about pmsing, jeez. Hopefully they'll "sync up" in other ways. Ew, was that tmi? Sorry. XD


	55. If Tomorrow Never Comes--

**Beware the calm of comic relief.  
**

Warning: Angst (mostly England), disturbing images, FrUK, weapons.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

**If Tomorrow Never Comes…**

They reached the stream within the hour, but Arthur was only mildly pleased. Gilbert's words were still fresh in his mind. _Should _Arthur really be leading the group when he was unstable? Well, sure, he hadn't had any nightmares or any visions or bouts of anger lately and he was sure he'd gotten rid of whatever it was that was bothering him, but he didn't want to come across as a tyrant. He knew well enough what could happen if he acted like that.

Was he the one tearing the group apart?

"Hey, Arthur!" Francis called, dropping his discarded sweater on the ground next to his pants. "Come on, cher, let's go swimming~!" He hooked his thumbs into his underwear.

"Keep your knickers on, frog!"

Francis smirked. "Who's going to stop me~?"

"No, you don't!" Arthur leapt to his feet and chased Francis around for a bit, Francis laughing hysterically, until the Frenchman ran into the stream and sat down in the water. Arthur didn't follow him, smirking when Francis yelped and sprang to his feet.

"Ah! It's cold!"

"Hey!" Yao snapped, taking his canteen from the stream a few feet away. "At least let us get water first before you contaminate it!"

"Ohon, what, cher?" Francis leered. "You don't want a taste of me?" When Yao opened his mouth to retort, Francis splashed him with the freezing water.

Arthur wished he could join in with the frivolous activities but he felt… drained. He wanted nothing else but to rest, but he knew he had to keep going, stay strong, for the group. He sighed and pulled off his own shirt, his pants following after. Alfred wolf-whistled and Arthur flipped him off.

He stepped into the stream, and an icy chill crawled up his legs. He crouched (hell, he certainly wasn't making the mistake of sitting) and glanced over at Francis. His breath still caught with the wounds he saw on him.

"Do they hurt?" Arthur asked under his breath, scooping up some water and pouring it over his arm, watching the dirt wash off.

"No," Francis replied, though Arthur knew he was lying.

He was about to voice it, when a fountain of freezing water was poured over his head. He yelped and sputtered, moving away and looking up to see Alfred grinning down at him, overturned canteen in hand.

"Thought Francis would like seeing you soaked." Alfred laughed.

"Ouais, merci, Alfred." Francis leered.

Arthur flushed. "You little sod—!"

"Oh, Alfred~" Alfred turned around to see Ivan standing and smiling before him. "I found something in the stream that I thought you would like."

"Cool. What is i—AH!" Alfred pushed Ivan away, but not before the man dropped a crayfish down Alfred's shorts.

Everyone jeered and laughed as Alfred danced around, trying to get the thing out of his underwear. The poor creature dropped out not half a minute later, splashing into the water and promptly scuttling away.

Alfred stopped jumping around and bent over, hands on his knees to catch his breath. He had been close to taking his underwear off. He glared at Ivan, who was laughing so hard, tears were escaping his eyes. "You asshole. What woulda happened if that thing had clipped one of my balls, huh?"

"Then we'd answer the question of which ball you would keep." Arthur said, remembering their ridiculous conversation in the airport terminal so very long ago, and everyone broke out laughing again.

They all eventually finished bathing (though it took a little coaxing for Kiku to actually take anything off, and it didn't help that Francis was laughing pervertedly the whole time) and got dressed. They searched a bit for the crayfish (as it may have made a good meal), but they didn't find it and most really didn't want to eat anything that had taken a trip through Alfred's underwear anyway.

And they once again began their journey. It was almost ritual now. Sleep, get up, eat, walk, eat some more, walk, find a camp, set up the tents, eat, sleep. If only they could add the talking part in, then it would be a little better. Though Arthur didn't exactly know if 'better' was the word for the situation they were in. Maybe 'more tolerable.'

Wynston had been right. The land was all grass and shrub. Behind them, mountains stretched up to meet the sky, and throughout the day they were gradually growing smaller on the horizon. Arthur didn't like it. The flatter the land got, the more he felt like they were heading into a wasteland that went on forever. And the more he wasn't sure that they were all going to make it out alive.

Despite their situation, Arthur was in relatively high spirits. They were away from civilization. They had food. They had ammo. Now all they needed was a miracle.

_Why does winter have to come now?_

Arthur looked up at the sky. Slate gray. It was only a matter of time before snow fell, and then he didn't know what they would do. He only hoped going with Alfred's plan to cut across the Midwest and Northeast to reach the capital wouldn't end up being the death of them.

Then Arthur's body went cold. He knew he shouldn't, but he lowered his eyes.

And right there, _right there_, standing only a few yards away, was the same shadowy form that had plagued Arthur's mind. He didn't stop to stare this time; he kept going, unnerved that it was a great deal closer than the last time he had seen it. He begged for it not to turn around. He didn't think he could bear seeing Britannia in such a demonic state. He begged for it not to be what he thought it was. Maybe it was an animal? But no one else was looking.

Whatever it was that was in him wasn't gone.

He didn't notice anyone around him. He became numb to the world, and that scared him. He wanted to pull his eyes away, to keep walking with his head down, but his eyes were locked in place and he couldn't move. And then it turned around.

She was radiant, his mother. Simply glowing with life and beauty. He fought to keep his mental defenses up; it was so hard not to reminisce in the memories of his childhood with her. He forced himself not to smile. _Don't crack, don't crack._ He chanted a poem that focused him inside his head, something that his mother had taught him to block his mind to whatever malicious force was trying to control it:

_The songs are sweet that sirens sing,_

_The sweetest ever heard,_

_But those who listen die cruel deaths,_

_And dead men say no words_

Over and over, he said this in his mind, but the image of Britannia would not go away. She was smiling at him, mocking him with her closeness, her _real-ness_. But he would not break, not now, not when he had gotten this far, this _sane_. He hadn't spent hundreds of years mastering magic just to have his brain claimed by any random force.

_The songs are sweet that sirens sing,_

_The sweetest ever heard,_

_But those who listen die cruel deaths,_

_But those who listen die cruel deaths..._

The words were lost to him as he watched Britannia's hand disappear inside of her white robes. And there was a glint of metal as she pulled out a gun, aiming it right at him. She cocked it, still smiling, still Britannia, the only mother Arthur had ever known, and now she pulled the trigger, the blast of the gunshot echoing through Arthur. He felt the sound, as if it were real. Britannia, his mother, wanted to kill him…

_No,_ Arthur told himself firmly. _It can't be her, it's just a vision, it's_—

"The Organization!" Ludwig yelled, and Arthur snapped out of his daze. The group was reeling and rushing all around him, crying out, and the sound of gunshots assaulted his eardrums…

Only when a bullet split through the air just inches from his face did Arthur realize _Shit, they found us!_

"Artie!" Alfred ran up to him and snatched up his arm. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Run!"

Alfred took off and Arthur followed him, not daring to look back. He could hear shouts from the men a little ways off, but all around him the ground was smoking and pitted with bullets. Everything was a blur; he was so focused on running that he barely noticed who was running with him. He willed his legs to keep moving, but there was really no place to hide. The land was riddled with hills. That was a start.

Arthur began looking for a place to take cover (because he was rapidly running out of energy) when he noticed that no one was in front of him. He slowed, longing to look back. He hissed as a bullet grazed his cheek, blood welling and dripping down his face, and he started running at full speed again. His pack was slowing him down, but he couldn't drop it. What if he got away? What if he needed the supplies for later on?

Just as he was thinking how impossible escaping sounded, his foot caught in a dip in the ground and he was falling, plummeting to the earth. He hit the dirt with a thud that knocked the breath out of him, and he quickly scrambled into the long grass…

Wait. Long grass!

It was everywhere, stretching for a good mile at least, and Arthur thanked God for it. He kept himself flat to the ground and continued to crawl along, wanting to get as deep into the grass as possible.

He could hear the men's feet trod on the grass, and Arthur hurried as far away as he could. A couple of them growled in frustration. They neared him, and Arthur stopped moving, stopped breathing. They approached him, guns ready… and then walked past.

They stopped, and one shouted, "Fucking cowards! We'll get you. You can't stay hidden forever in this field!"

And they walked back past Arthur. He heard the men conversing, and from the sound of it, there were at least ten of them.

"What the hell are we going to do now?"

"Can't believe those rats got away!"

"Calm down, everyone." And everyone went quiet. It was clear that this man was the leader. "All right, then. We make camp here. I will assign a couple of guys to take shifts skirting all four corners of this field every hour, on the hour."

"Why don't we just light the shit on fire and smoke 'em out?"

"Because, dumbass, more than the field would be on fire. The grass is dry this time of year. Do you wanna light up the whole prairie?"

"No…"

"Then shut up and do what I say."

The men were not in the field anymore. Arthur could hear them setting up camp close by. He decided to move while they were occupied. As he crawled blindly through the tall, dry grass, he began to wonder who else made it into the field alive.

_Dammit, Alfred, you'd better not have been a hero…_

* * *

Francis was making his way through the grass without any idea where he was going. What if he was alone? What if he was the only survivor?

His mind was so busy trying to come up with scenarios, that he didn't hear the crunching of the grass nearing his position.

He stopped dead just before an elbow came into view and his blood turned to ice.

He couldn't move. If he did, he would surely be noticed. He couldn't hear the men or where they went. For all he knew they could be crawling through the grass after him.

But he wasn't going down without a fight. He wouldn't be overpowered like last time.

So he laid there on his stomach, ready to grab hold of the person when they came into view and wrestle for his life. He couldn't let the man see him, though. Francis kind of needed a bit of an advantage in this situation. So, as soon as the man's whole arm came into view, he launched himself forward.

There were plenty of 'oof's and 'ow's and 'what the fuck's before the stranger rolled them over, pulling Francis's hair.

_It's going to happen again. _Francis thought, his stomach churning. He squinted his eyes shut, and then he heard, "Francis…?"

He opened his eyes and stared right into the face of a very breathless Arthur. Francis gave a sigh of relief, and the Briton let go of his hair, scrambling off of him.

"Thank God I found you." Arthur panted. He didn't realize how sweaty he was, how hard his heart was pounding, until he lay on his back and took time to rest.

"Are you shot?" Francis asked, hands moving over him, searching for blood.

Arthur didn't have the energy to bat away his wandering hands. "No… no, just nicked on the cheek."

Francis grabbed Arthur's hand and squeezed it. "Have you seen the others?"

"No,"

"Do you know if anyone else is alive?"

Arthur swallowed dryly, his heart starting up a frantic tattoo in his chest again. "No,"

Francis buried his face in Arthur's chest. "We should have seen them coming… we should have paid better attention… merde…"

They lay there for a few minutes, catching their breaths, trying to calm themselves, staring at the gray sky.

"I hope it doesn't rain." Arthur said with worry. "We could freeze."

"Don't say it and it will not happen." Francis breathed, raising himself up on his elbows to look at him. "We need to keep looking."

Arthur nodded and rolled over, kissing Francis on the cheek. Francis blushed. "W-what was that for, cher?"

"In case we don't make it." Arthur replied, diving into the grass.

* * *

Translations:  


merde-shit

A Word From the Writer: Whoo, it feels like it's been forever since I've posted! School has started again for me, so I'm a little drained right now. This is also my senior year and may be the last year I'll be able to freely write and update weekly. I hope it doesn't come to that because I live and breathe fanfiction, but this is just a heads up for everyone in case that happens. It's not like I'll stop writing, though. I'll always be a writer and I'll always have a special place in my heart for Hetalia.

Annnyway, enough depressing shit. The Organization is on their heels more so than our boys thought. Have all of them made it into the grass? Well, that's up to my wicked little mind.


	56. --Remember Me--

**A bitchslap of feels.  
**

Warning: Angst, threats, weapons, injuries, CanadaxTurkey, mention of Prumano,GerIta (yes, you knew it was going to happen, didn't you?), and RusAme.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

* * *

… **Remember Me…**

Matthew didn't know what to do.

He had made it this far, but he was alone. Utterly. He couldn't hear anyone around him and was too afraid to peek above the grass for the Organization members watching the field like hawks scanning for mice. Being alone and unsure, he did what he usually did when in a crisis.

He took a deep breath… and began to cry.

Well, the crying part wasn't his usual thing, but he had no one and there could have been a menagerie of things that could have happened and the attack was so sudden. Alfred could be dead. Francis could be captured, abused right at this very moment. He could be the sole survivor and he wouldn't know until he could find a way to get out of the field and away from the men who wanted him dead.

_Come on, Mattie, suck it up. Don't be such a baby. _Alfred's words echoed through his head from a time when they were much younger. Of course only then it had been splinter. Now it was life or death.

But tears wouldn't help him at all, he knew that. And he was only wasting what little moisture he had in his body by crying. So he took another deep breath and wiped his eyes. Someone had to be alive. They _had _to be. Statistics said there should be at least one other person alive along with him, and they had to be found.

So Matthew started off in a random direction, struggling to remember what little he'd seen of the field before he'd dove into the grass. He was near the left, facing east, east to where the field ended. He continued to map out his location as he moved through the grass. Every rustle, every squawk of a bird nearly made him scream.

He was so busy trying to calculate his position in the field, that he didn't notice the form moving in front of him until the last moment. Before he could stop, they collided, and Matthew immediately slammed his fist down as hard as he could between the man's shoulder blades, afraid that it was one of the Organization members come to get him.

The hit knocked the breath out of the other man, and he collapsed into the dirt facing Matthew. The Canadian peered down at him, more than ready to deal another punch, when he recognized him. "S-Sadiq?"

"Nice of you to notice." the Turk grumbled, coughing a bit as he struggled to lift himself off the ground. "Hefty punch. Learn that from your brother? I mean the one that's an idiot, not a pansy."

Matthew frowned. "I know how to punch. And insulting my family doesn't help at all in this situation."

Sadiq rolled his shoulders, feeling a bit guilty about offending Matthew. How could anyone offend someone with such a cute face? "You're right. I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "Well, I'm definitely awake now. Is there anyone with you?" He peered behind Matthew to see.

Matthew shook his head. "Only us two." He lifted his head to examine the sky. Sadiq noted his smooth, milk-white neck. Had he ever been bitten there? It was just _asking_ to be bitten… Matthew's sigh brought him out of his reverie. "If it rains, we're screwed."

"We have our sleeping bags, at least." Sadiq pointed out, struggling to keep his eyes from wandering over bare patches of the Canadian's skin. Fuck, what had gotten into him? One time he saw Matthew jerking one, and that was all it took…

No. That was just the straw that broke the camel's back. He had wanted the Canadian for longer than he had acknowledged. When he was sick, Matthew had taken care of him, was always there, always murmuring words of comfort, hands going over Sadiq's body without knowing how it was affecting the Turk. All those times Matthew had tried to help someone else with their injuries, and Sadiq saying right then that _he_ needed Matthew, that Matthew could only care for, could only touch, _him_. And now, with one foot presumably in the grave, he was wanting Matthew even more.

_Shit, I'm in deep…_ Even deeper than with Heracles. He'd always loved Heracles, first as a surrogate son, then as a lover. He remembered their first bout of lovemaking like it was yesterday, but now the only face he could see beneath him was Matthew's.

"Sadiq, are you all right? Your face is kind of red."

"Um… y-yeah, I'm fine. Just… a little winded from that run."

"Should be, old man." Matthew said, smiling. Such a sweet smile. And Sadiq loved sweet things.

Sadiq nudged him. "Hey, now you sound like your bully of a brother."

Matthew snorted. "You were asking for it with that response."

This bantering back and forth. Sadiq never knew how much he loved hearing Matthew talk. He'd barely heard him talk before the Uprising, had barely even _seen _him. But now he regretted not looking. He regretted not having the time they could have had together. Now they were in some field in the middle of nowhere hiding from men that could kill them at a moment's notice. And Sadiq had yet to say how much he cared about Matthew.

Before he could stop himself, he was leaning down to kiss Matthew. Then he realized what he was doing and came up short. He opened his eyes, staring down at Matthew's wide indigo pools, inches away from his face.

"Sadiq…?" Matthew began, but then he blinked in realization. Oh, so that was how it was. The Canadian always knew something was up with Sadiq, but now he could pinpoint what. Well… he'd play that game. What the hell?

He propped himself up on his elbows and stared at Sadiq for a second. A dusting of pink was spreading across the Turk's cheeks, and he looked adorably embarrassed. Matthew fought to keep down a smile as he pressed his lips against Sadiq's.

It was chaste and warm, and Sadiq felt something go through him that made his breath catch. It was clear that the same thing happened to Matthew, as he tensed for a moment, then relaxed.

When they parted, Sadiq, whose mind was thoroughly blown, asked quietly, "Why did you do that?"

Matthew gave a small smile. A sweet smile. Just for him. "I figured if we survived this, it would be a sign that we should kiss more often."

Sadiq smiled back. "I'm game."

Matthew nodded. "Well, if you really want me, you're going to have to help me look for the others."

Sadiq felt a warmth pooling in his stomach, and he was about to say something back, but the words caught in his throat. He only thought them longingly as he watched Matthew crawl off into the grass.

_I would go to the ends of the earth and back to have you, Mattie. _

_ And then I'd go a little further, just to make sure you'd be mine._

* * *

"I can't fucking believe I got stuck with you, bastard."

Ludwig sighed as he continued to elbow his way through the grass. "Ja, ja, you've already said that."

Lovino scowled at him. "Well I _still _can't fucking believe it."

Ludwig didn't say anything this time. The last thing he needed was to start a fight with the Italian and attract the attention of who knew how many men (and where they were) out there.

"Where did Feli go?" Lovino muttered to himself. "How could I have lost him? He was fucking _in front_ of me!"

"Maybe we will find him if we keep looking." Ludwig said, fighting to keep the bite out of his tone. Lovino couldn't believe he'd lost his brother. Ludwig couldn't believe they were brothers _at all_. Lovino was mean and cold, while Feliciano was sweet and caring and—

"You have that look again, wurst breath." Lovino said with annoyance, and Ludwig looked at him in confusion.

"Was? What look?"

"That damn look you always have when you look at my fratello."

Ludwig stopped crawling and Lovino stopped with him. He fought to keep down a blush. Had he been that obvious? He'd honestly thought he was doing a good job of hiding it. But then again, Lovino was overly protective. He didn't know what to say, so he let Lovino talk some more.

"Don't fucking act like you don't know. I know you've been creeping on Feli for a while. And I don't want your wurst-whacking hands anywhere near him!"

Ludwig huffed. Great. Now mother hen knew. So much for slowly making his move on Feliciano. Trust Feliciano to be completely oblivious to his near nonexistent advances and Lovino to know right off the bat. Then again, Ludwig himself was also a mother hen. He had to be—Gilbert was never one to be responsible for or perceptive of anything. He smirked.

"What about you and my bruder? You seemed to have a lot to talk about when he got angry earlier today."

Lovino's face turned tomato-red before you could say 'guilty.' "Th-that's not—the stupid bastard was being difficult, and I had to kick his ass back into shape with a few choice words."

Ludwig shook his head. "Do you honestly think I didn't hear what went on upstairs in that house?" At this, Lovino blanched just as quickly as he had blushed. "Ja, it was a good thing Feliciano was fast asleep and Yao was outside, or more people than Matthew and I would know."

Lovino broke his gaze to look at the ground. He was wringing his hands nervously. "The syrup bastard knows…" Well, they hadn't exactly been quiet when they'd fucked. He didn't know why he didn't suspect others had heard…

He looked back up at Ludwig, tears forming in his eyes as much as he tried to keep them down, dammit. "You… you can't fucking tell anyone." He and Gilbert just got on good terms, and, fuck, if he lost that with word getting around…

Ludwig shook his head. "Not if you don't tell anyone about me and Feliciano." He extended his hand. "Deal?"

Lovino was hesitant at first, but he eventually took his hand. "Fine, dammit." And they shook.

_I can't fucking believe I've made a pact with the potato bastard…_

* * *

Ivan wrapped his scarf further around himself so that it didn't snag on the grass. It had a couple of times before, and he worried that the men would have seen a few stalks of grass waving peculiarly about among a still sea of its fellows. But it hurt to move. The bullet lodged in his side made it painful to do anything other than breathe shallowly.

When the men had shown up, he hadn't turned and run like everyone else had. He'd slipped out his AK-47, and turned to face them, shooting up a storm. But he didn't fire for very long before a man aimed a good shot at his left side. The pain of it was excruciating when it'd hit him—if he was his normal, immortal self, it would be but a pinprick.

The pain had startled him, and made him lose focus for a second. By then the men had recovered and were taking aim at him, since he was the only one still standing before them. Instantly, Ivan knew he was outgunned, and he fled. It was hard for him to do. He never fled, never backed down, and when he did, he made sure to do something to hinder his enemies on the way.

But his running was pure shame. He'd done nothing. He hadn't taken out a single man, hadn't even shot them (mostly due to his urge to hurry and fire without taking proper aim in order to stun them), and now look what he had to show for it. A bullet wound.

It was bleeding, and it hurt like hell. He hadn't realized before how many muscles in his side it took just to crawl, but it must be a hell of a lot, because the wound would remind him in the form of a screaming sting up his torso. Ivan had taken time to assess the injury (though it was hard lying down), and it didn't feel like it had hit any vital organs. But it had been ten minutes, and the wound was still leaking blood, and he was starting to get dizzy with the loss of it. Ivan's initial goal diving into the field was to immediately start looking for his comrades. But now he had to stop to tend to his wound.

Ivan looked for something to wrap around it. He pulled at his greatcoat, but the material was far too strong to be ripped with his bare hands (without attracting attention), and Ivan wasn't willing to risk shrugging the pack from off his back and rummaging around in it to find his pocketknife. He sighed. He'd known the only thing that would work from the start, and he now had no choice but to use it.

He unwrapped his scarf from around his neck and looked at it. A light pink. Warm and soft to the touch. Yekaterina had given Ivan this scarf when he was so very young, when he had yet to become a power. It reminded him every day of the hardships he went through to get to where he was… well, before the Uprising. The scarf had been a symbol of strength, had been with him through thick and thin for centuries… was a reminder of his sisters. They had been strange, but he loved them like any brother would. And he felt like he was throwing away the one thing that connected him to them.

He pressed the scarf to his lips before rolling onto his side with a hiss and pushing it down on the bleeding wound. His heart sank a little as he saw the blood soak through. But he willed away the feeling and began to wrap his torso.

It was a good thing the scarf was long. It went around him three times and bound his injury so tightly that it stopped bleeding. He tied it off and took a few sips of water from his canteen. It was icy-cold, but he was used to that, and it made him feel a little bit stronger.

Ivan decided that he must keep moving. If he didn't, he could die just laying there, for the impending rain and the cold of night would claim him faster than his old self. But if he kept moving—just kept moving—he might have chance.

No. He _would _have a chance. Because he knew Alfred was still out there, and he had yet to make love to him like he so desperately wanted. He'd promised he would protect Alfred, take care of him—love him. He couldn't leave him. Not now. Not when they were _so very close_.

_I will find you, my sunflower. Even if this wound takes every bit of strength I have in me, I will see you again._

* * *

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Finally! Mattie has paired up. It's an unusual and seldom-seen pair, I know, but Imma try to make it work. And what is up with this grass? Our boys are twitterpated. I feel bad for Russia. I like to pick on him a lot, just because I think of him as an ox and like to see him struggle through stuff. Did I mention that one of my most favorite pairings is RusAme? (tied with USUK/UKUS, FrUK, Prumano, and USCan/CanUS. Hell, Imma shipping whore). RusAme can be so bittersweet to write. I would huggle Russia every day if I could... you know, if it didn't break my ribs. Not to say I won't put that pairing before everyone else. No, I ship everything to a T. And who knew Turkey was a little romantic? Creepers gotta lure them in somehow, HURR (jk, Turkey just likes sweet things in general and Canada's _so_ sweet! *gush*)

Okay, so, just a little message to everyone. Next weekend I'll be gone most of Saturday taking a campus tour, so I probably won't be able to post until Sunday, which is still iffy because my grandmother will be here and I kinda have to spend time with her. If not Sunday, Monday fo' sho'. Sorry this was posted so late. I had to help out at my local Oktoberfest. BEER! Prussia would approve. But no beer for me. I stuck to the apple-stacking station. Me and my sis stacked dem apples like no tomorrow. X3

I also have a surprise for youuuu! So, I didn't realize it was gonna be Friday the 13th until, well Monday the 9th, so I posted some smutty (and cracky) Ameripan for you on the unluckiest day of the year. Look for _**Anything-But-Casual**_**_ Friday_. **Just to tide you over until the my next post.

TTFN!


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